


My Heart is Drenched in Wine

by ChampagneSly



Series: Wine Verse [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Romance, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[AU] Wine and romance.  More importantly, when you cut through my wine!fangirling, this is a story about Lovino and Antonio and how they find their way back together (in spite of the past and occasionally the present) as they attempt to make wine and sometimes love.</p><p>Note: Quite long at 30,400 words!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

****  
“More coffee, sir?” The flight attendant spoke in soft Italian, trying once again in Spanish when the passenger in seat 2B didn’t respond, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he stared out the window. Though handsome, with dark brown hair and matching eyes, well dressed in gray slacks and a blue button-up shirt, the man’s face was marred with a frown.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand to tap him lightly on the shoulder, only to be waved-off by the man without a second thought, or even the turning of his head to acknowledge her presence. Offended, but not terribly surprised after years of dealing with rich, arrogant businessmen who believed themselves to be superior, the young woman spun on her heels and returned to the galley.

Back in 2B, Lovino Vargas knocked his forehead against the tempered glass of the small airplane window, deeply ashamed that he had been unfailingly rude to a pretty woman. And yet he could only spare a moment’s upset before he was once again flooded by the anxious and angry thoughts that had occupied him to the point of dismissive distraction. He watched with troubled eyes as the coastline of Sicily disappeared beneath him, tracking the blue of the Mediterranean Sea as the plane continued on its journey, unmindful of his distress. 

Lovino fiddled with the silver watch on his wrist, a gift from his brother, absently noting that it had only been five short hours since he had turned over the keys to the Villa Solare to Veronique, kissing her on each cheek and pushing a stray lock of blond hair behind her ears, attempting to ease her worried look.

 _  
Five hours ago ~ Trapani, Sicily   
_

_  
“Lovino, are you sure this is the right thing to do?”   
_

_  
He shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders and trying to keep his angry disappointment at bay, “Fuck, I don’t know, Veronique. But I gotta do something other than sitting here trying to prove myself to that asshole.”   
_

_  
Veronique grabbed his arm, “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone! You and I and anyone who matters knows what you’ve done here at the Villa Solare. How good you really are. He must know it too, even if he won’t acknowledge it!”   
_

_  
Lovino snorted, scuffing his shoes in the gravel of the driveway, looking long and hard at the crumbling, but lovely, stone façade of the winery that had been his passion for five years, “Che, that motherfucker won’t give me the time of day. But I’m going to make him. Fuck his inheritance and fuck his bullshit opinion. I’ll show him that I’m good enough on my own, that I can make wines so good he’ll shit himself with envy.”   
_

_  
Veronique sighed, releasing her hold, “I don't understand why you can't do that here.”   
_

_  
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past five years! But even when I do make something of myself that stupid bastard finds fault. Fuck if I know why the hell he ever bought this goddamned placed if nothing that comes of it will ever be worth anything to him. Fuck!” He clenched his fists in rage.   
_

_  
Closing his eyes briefly, Lovino inhaled, trying to regain his sense of calm in the face of Veronique’s nervousness,    
_

_  
“No, it's gotta be this way. There are other places that need me  and I’ll show that piece of shit and then he’ll regret losing me.” He paused, slinging his arm around her shoulders, “Besides, I trust you. Who better than my beautiful Belgian apprentice to carry on our legacy?”    
_

_  
Veronique rolled her eyes and blushed a little, pushing him towards the waiting taxi, “Go on then, you idiot. Save that foolishness for the unsuspecting people of Spain.”    
_

_  
Then it was Lovino's turn to blush, as he thought about exactly who was waiting for him in Spain. Within seconds he quashed that thought, angry that he hadn’t even left the country and already his mind was straying from his most important goals. As a reminder of what he was giving up, Lovino took one last look at his home, he steeling his resolve and turning towards the waiting cab.   
_

_  
Just as he was about to close the door, Veronique called out, her hair blowing in the wind, a picture of perfection against the azure Sicilian sky, “Lovino! Don't forget…this is OUR legacy. Not his, not Feliciano's, no one else’s. Remember that!”    
_

Pissed off by his little trip down recent memory lane, Lovino shifted violently in his seat, which caused the man across the aisle in 2A to frown in disapproval. Unimpressed, Lovino shot him a dirty look, muttering insults in Italian under his breath. 

“Excuse me?” The irritant spoke in heavily accented English.

‘Great,’ Lovino thought, ‘a fucking German on my fucking plane.’ He considered picking a fight to alleviate his anxiety, but when he caught the overly curious stares of at least three other passengers, he settled for rolling his eyes and twisting his body away to stare out the window again. He heard the other man “hmmph” and flick open his newspaper with dramatic force, an obnoxious reminder of the person he disliked second most in this world. 

Ludwig Beilschmidt. Bratwurst-eating and beer drinking business manager extraordinaire for the collected vineyards and estates of the famed Vargas wine empire. 

And current object of Feliciano's endless affections. 

Humorless and hideously ugly, with his Teutonic features, slicked back blond hair, sneaky blue eyes and all those muscles, Lovino failed to see what Feliciano saw in the bastard. He cracked his knuckles and ground his teeth, just thinking about leaving this German menace alone in Italy with his stupidly trusting and soft-minded brother. He thanked all the gods and goddesses that the potato-eater had spent so many years being stunted by his German-ness that he was unable to pick up on Feliciano's less than subtle intentions. What kind of man would do that? Moron. 

And to think at this moment he was indebted to this barbarian invader from the north. It made his stomach churn. 

_  
Two weeks earlier ~ Montalcino, Tuscany   
_

_  
Feliciano was in fine form, bouncing across the room, clinging first to Lovino, then to Ludwig, and then finally latching on to the man that controlled them all, the bane of Lovino’s existence.    
_

_  
“Grandpa Roma!” Feliciano was breathless with excitement, “Did you hear! Robert Parker gave our 2002 Brunello di Montalcino 98 points!”   
_

_  
Grandpa Rome, a handsome man in his late fifties, a man with wealth and property, who dominated a wine empire that stretched from the Mediterranean, across the rolling vineyards of France, and even into the Mosel region of Germany, was Feliciano and Lovino’s only living relative. He’d raised both of them from a very young age, grooming each to be an heir to his mighty empire.    
_

_  
Feliciano had been a sweet, loving child, coddled at Rome’s knee, allowed to spend hours learning how to paint or sing songs, instead of the long, hard hours that Lovino spent slaving over oenology textbooks and out in the fields of his grandfather’s many estates, learning terroir along with technology. When they had come of age at 21, Grandpa Rome proudly presented Feliciano with the deed to his most prized possession, the 400 acres of priceless vines in the heart of Montalcino, “Tenuta di Vargas”, the source of the Vargas family’s most famous wine.    
_

_Lovino had been banished to Sicily, to work in the crumbling Villa Solare, attempting to coax wonder out of grapes that no one had heard of, forced out of his lazy complacency by a drive to prove his grandfather wrong about him, about this place. His diamond in the rough.  
  
Grandpa Rome smiled indulgently at Feliciano, the nominal wine maker of the Brunello, though Lovino knew that the most that Feliciano was responsible for in regards to that bottle of wine was the beautifully painted label and its poetic name, “Seduzione.”_ _  
_

_  
“Of course it did, my boy!” Rome boomed, clapping Feliciano on the shoulder, “It is from our winery after all!”   
_

_  
Feliciano smiled, patting Rome’s leg, “There’s even more great news! Tell him, Ludwig, tell him what you told me that made me so happy the other night.”   
_

_  
Lovino bristled, wondering exactly what it was that this suspicious motherfucker was telling his idiot brother at night. That made him happy.    
_

_  
Ludwig stood, ramrod straight as if preparing to give a formal lecture, “Sir,”   
_

_  
Grandpa Rome cut him off with a wave of his hand, laughing, “Don’t call me sir, Ludwig! You’re practically family to my little Feliciano. Call me Rome.”    
_

_  
Ludwig twitched and Lovino enjoyed his discomfort, finding it paired very well with the glass of Seduzione.    
_

_  
He cleared his throat, “I would rather not, sir. Anyways, as I was saying, I was looking over the sales figures from the past three quarters, and it turns out that another wine has surpassed the previous top seller from Tenuta di Vargas.”    
_

_  
Lovino’s interest was piqued. He wondered who had managed to topple the old bastard from his long held throne.    
_

_  
“What?!” Rome exclaimed, sitting forward in his chair,“Tell me, what arrogant little shit winemaker is trying to usurp me?”    
_

_  
Normally, Lovino would have been delighted by Ludwig’s pained look, but at this moment his mind was racing too far ahead, trying to remember what Veronique had told him about their record year.     
_

_  
“Well, sir, it’s the Villa Solare. Their 2006 Nero d’Avola vintage has been the highest selling wine this year.”    
_

_  
Feliciano clapped gleefully, running over to fling his arms around Lovino’s neck in a hug. Stunned, Lovino allowed the affection for a moment, absorbing his brother’s happy praise along with the news.    
_

_  
“Villa Solare? Oh, you mean that Sicilian dump I won off a mob boss? Not possible,” Rome scoffed.    
_

_  
Lovino shoved Feliciano away, cheeks flushing with anger, “Don’t talk about the Villa that way you senile son of a bitch.”    
_

_  
Rome’s face shuttered closed, “I forgot, that’s your little place isn’t it, Lovino? Now I know the numbers are lying.”   
_

_  
“You’re goddamned right it is!” Lovino yelled.    
_

_  
Ludwig stepped forward into the line of fire, placing his body in front of a visibly upset Feliciano, speaking directly to Rome, “The  numbers don’t lie, sir. They are numbers. And I checked the figures three times. There’s no question that Villa Solare is your most profitable and popular winery at the moment.”    
_

_  
Rome shrugged, “Feh. An aberration caused by the Americans and their terrible taste for big, fruity, wines. New world  flavored bullshit sells well these days.”   
_

_  
Lovino was ready to spit nails, disappointment and rage boiling in his stomach, when once again Ludwig spoke up, his voice still calm  and collected, even as Feliciano cried behind him, “No, sir. The shipments of the wine break down evenly across the Americas and Europe. In fact, the highest percentage of purchases of the Nero d’Avola are Italian.”    
_

_  
Lovino watched as his grandfather shook his head in disbelief, unwilling to believe what he was hearing, “Well, it must be because of my name on the bottle. Brand loyalty.”   
_

_  
And that was just it. He was sick of this shit.    
_

_  
“Fuck you, you son of a bitch. I don’t give a fuck what you believe. I made the Villa Solare what it is today and I’ll  be damned before I let a piece of shit like you take the credit,” Lovino raged, voice deadly serious as he crossed the floor to face his grandfather.   
_

_  
He placed the half-finished glass of Seduzione next to his grandfather’s chair, hissing, “In fact, fuck your empire, fuck your inheritance, and fuck you. I’m done.”   
_

_  
Rome’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Oh? And where are you going to go?”   
_

_  
Lovino turned away, picking up his coat and heading for the door, “Not that its any of your goddamned business, but I’ve had repeated offers from a very reputable estate in Spain.”    
_

_  
Just as he was turning the knob, Rome called out to him one last time, “Where?”   
_

_  
“The Bodega Carriedo,” Lovino said as he walked out the door, pulse still racing, anger and fear warring for dominance.    
_

_  
‘What the hell had he done? Disinherited himself? Said he had a job working for a man that he’d told, in no uncertain terms, to go fuck himself?’    
_

_  
“SHIT!” Lovino yelled, repeatedly kicking the tires of his Maserati until he felt a tentative hand grasping his shoulder.    
_

_  
“Fuck off!” He shouted, ready to strike until he turned to find Feliciano’s tear-streaked face.    
_

_  
Hurriedly, he moved to wrap an arm around his shoulders, unable to handle his brother’s tears, “Shit, shit, stop crying, alright. It’s not a big deal.”   
_

_  
Feliciano gulped, swallowing his cries, “Brother! It is a big deal! Are you really going to leave us?”   
_

_  
Lovino scowled, dragging his brother in closer, “Fuck that. I’m leaving HIM. Not you, stupid.”    
_

_  
“Will you be okay?”   
_

_  
Lovino closed his eyes, praying to the Virgin Mary for help, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. I’m going to go to Antonio’s.”   
_

_  
Feliciano sucked in a quick breath, “Really!?”   
_

_  
Lovino shoved him off, fumbling for his keys and hiding his blush, “Yes, now shut the fuck up and go back inside before our shit of a grandfather comes out here.”   
_

_  
The tears started up again as Feliciano sighed, “But I am going to miss you so much.”    
_

_  
Grumbling, Lovino pulled Feliciano into a tight hug, “They invented these things called the phone and the internet, you idiot,” he paused, sniffling a little, “so go back into the house.”    
_

_  
Feliciano nodded and kissed him farewell.   
_

Lovino’s eyes flew open as did his mouth, “Fuck that shit!” falling from his tongue before he had a chance to stop himself as the daydream ended. 

“I’m sorry, sir, can I help you?” Chimed a polite voice. Lovino raised his head from its uncomfortable resting place against the wall of the plane to find himself the object of a flight attendant’s obvious scrutiny. He also noticed that the man’s eyes were taking more than a cursory look, raking over his face and body with some interest. He shifted a little in his seat, discomfited by the man’s appreciation and his lingering negative thoughts. 

He frowned, seeking a distraction, “Yeah, gimme a glass of wine.”

The attendant smiled, almost purring, “Red or white, sir?”

“Red.”

“Right away!” The flight attendant scurried off before returning what seemed like only seconds later, bearing a very familiar bottle, flowing script over an artist’s rendering of a Sicilian sunrise:.

 _  
Villa Solare   
2006 Nero d’Avola    
_

Lovino laughed bitterly, prompting the attendant to ask, “Something wrong, sir? I assure you this wine is very good.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

The flight attendant looked confused, “Then what seems to be the problem?”

Lovino paused, looking up at the man holding what was to this date his finest creation, the proud product years of effort, now abandoned in a fit of pride, “Nothing. Fate’s just a bitch sometimes, you know?” 

The attendant poured him a glass, smiling slyly, leaning in closer than was necessary, “I don’t know. Sometimes fate can work out really well.”

Lovino snorted, “Like when?” 

“Like right now.” The attendant paused to flutter his dark lashes over his brown eyes as he ran a hand up Lovino’s arm, “So, tell me, can I get you anything else today? Anything at all, its my pleasure.” 

Oh.

OH! Lovino’s mind finally caught up to the game, realizing that this man was hitting on him. He took a moment to consider looking over the man’s features...dark hair, brown eyes, attractive enough. And it had been a long time since someone had paid him such overt attention, since everyone in Trapani thought he was married to Veronique. 

It was tempting. Very tempting. 

But he’d made a promise on the day that he’d emailed Antonio, stating his intentions to come to the Bodega Carriedo, that he wouldn’t be distracted. That no matter how good looking or charming or infuriating or whatever feelings he may or may not have harbored in the past...Lovino would not deviate from his goal of making a world-class wine that had fuck all to with any Vargas but himself. He wouldn’t be swayed by flirtation or flattery (not that they ever really meant it anyways). Not sex, not romance, not love...only the vine and vengeance. 

He turned his attention back to the SkyMall that had been sitting open on his lap for hours, stating flatly, “No. I don’t need anything else.” 

His pursuer slunk away in obvious disappointment as Lovino celebrated his victory, feeling confident that he could now march forward into his new life with iron-clad resolve. 

  
One hour later, Lovino walked through the arrivals gate in Spain, peering through his sunglasses to find the source of the voice excitedly calling his name over and over. 

And there he was, smiling like an idiot and waving like a fool. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

 **  
Distraction.   
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title lovingly appropriated from the Norah Jone's song, 'Don't Know Why."  
> Trapani, Sicily: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trapani  
> Montalcino, Tuscany: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montalcino  
> Brunello di Montalcino: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brunello_di_Montalcino  
> Robert Parker: http://www.erobertparker.com/info/legend.asp  
> Oenology (Study of winemaking): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oenology  
> Terroir: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terroir  
> Nero d'Avola: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nero_d%27Avola
> 
> Villa, Tenuta, Bodega---Italian and Spanish words to identify wineries/vineyards.
> 
> I'm basing the Vargas wine empire on that of the Antinori family: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antinori


	2. Interlude: Every Love Story Has a Past

Interlude: Because All Love Stories Have a Past

Lovino Vargas first laid eyes on Antonio Fernandez Carriedo when still a brat in elementary school, being dragged around by Grandpa Rome on his inaugural introduction to the vast reaches of the Vargas empire. He bitterly recalled that Feliciano had been allowed to go on the school holiday to the beach, while he was trapped with his asshole grandfather in a never ending succession of meetings with boring adults.

They’d stopped in Spain on their way back from Bordeaux to visit old friends. Friends that Rome insisted should be seen as role models for a lazy little shit like his grandson. According to his grandfather, to whom Lovino occasionally deigned to pay attention, the woman was the sole owner and proprietor of the great Bodega Carriedo in Rioja, Spain. Lovino vaguely remembered meeting a pretty woman with dark hair and a tall man with bright green eyes in some smoky bar, table littered with corked bottles and tasting glasses, as they talked politics and laughed at his grandfather’s stupid jokes.

What he remembered clearly was the boy that sat with the adults, smiling blithely the whole time like he didn’t have a care in the world, like this whole situation wasn’t really fucking boring. The oblivious idiot had messy hair and eyes like his father, and much to Lovino’s horror, was wearing pants that had grass stains. _In public._

The hot mess had introduced himself as Antonio and then had the gall to ruffle Lovino’s hair, like being a measly three years older somehow gave him the right to do so. That one act had compelled Lovino to wage a not-so-subtle war against this Antonio character, attempting to annoy and insult him throughout dinner. Much to his childish dismay, his opponent seemed to find his behavior amusing and even said, with every appearance of meaning it, “I hope to see you again soon, Lovino!”

 _What an idiot_ , Lovino thought for what would be the first time among thousands.

They did indeed see each other again throughout his childhood, off and on, whenever the European wine scene caused their families to collide. Lovino kept up his campaign of ill-temper and mockery where Antonio was concerned, ratcheting up the stakes every time the bastard had the nerve to smile sweetly at Feliciano. But through it all, Antonio remained as good natured and attentive as ever, which set Lovino’s teeth on edge.

And then Antonio turned eighteen and was sent away to study abroad and Lovino’s fifteen year old heart couldn’t understand why it felt so disappointing to walk into a conference or a trade show, still shackled to Grandpa Rome, and see no Antonio shadowing his parents. At the time, he chalked it up to indigestion.

It wasn’t until three years later, when he’d turned eighteen and escaped from under Rome’s oppressive thumb and fled to university that everything began to make sense.

The first months away had been difficult, missing his brother (not that he ever would have said so) and struggling to fit in with the teeming masses of strange American students. Hard work had never been his forte, and without Rome’s authoritarian oversight, Lovino was drowning in a sea of complex science. He’d trudged back to his dorm-room one night, the burden of biochemistry homework weighing him down, only to stop dead in his tracks, hundred and fifty dollar textbook falling to the ground when he dropped it in shock.

There, leaning against his door, as cool as a fucking cucumber was Antonio. The three years of absence had treated him very well; the boy he remembered had become an adult. An adult with long legs and irritatingly perfect tanned skin, dark wavy hair, and green, green eyes lit by a smile. It didn’t even matter that his clothes _still_ didn’t match.

Gaping like a fish, Lovino stumbled over his words as he crossed over to meet the man, fumbling with the key as he unlocked the door, “Um...ah...What…what the fuck are you doing here, Antonio?”

Antonio pushed up from his resting place on the wall, grin going even wider as he threw an amicable arm around Lovino’s shoulders, “Not even a hello, Lovino? Some things never change!”

He laughed as Lovino shrank away from the semi-embrace, shooting him a dirty look that was belied by the traitorous flushing of his cheeks.

“Hello, bastard,” Lovino grumbled, confused by the unnecessary racing of his heart.

“Hello, Lovino!” Antonio chirped, taking a cursory look around Lovino’s trashed dorm room before slowly and inspecting the occupant, letting out a teasing whistle, “Wow, Lovino! You’ve gotten very handsome!”

Lovino blushed bright red and then promptly flew in a flailing rage, “What the fuck, you total weirdo! I don’t see you for three years and that’s what you have to say to me? Fucking Spaniards.”

Antonio shrugged, unashamed, “But it’s true, so why not say it?”

Determined to ignore this particular line of conversation, Lovino forcefully threw himself down on the unmade bed, sending a pile of half-finished homework fluttering to the floor, “Whatever. So what the hell are you doing here?”

Without permission, being a presumptuous bastard, Antonio settled on the end of Lovino’s bed, humming thoughtfully to himself, “Your grandfather asked my mother to have me look in on you, because in his words, ‘that little shit is fucking up.”

“Interfering asshole!” Lovino raged.

Patting Lovino’s leg in comfort (until Lovino kicked at him like an angry horse), Antonio continued, “Anyways, I’m living in San Francisco at the moment and it’s no trouble for me to spend some time with cute Lovino, so I said to my mother that of course I would come up here and see how things were going for you!”

Lovino didn’t know whether to be pissed off or touched, so he settled for rolling his eyes and scoffing, “I’m fine, I don’t need a fucking  babysitter. Especially not an idiot like you… But if you want to waste your time hanging out at this shithole school, fine by me.”

Antonio laughed and smiled as if this was the warmest welcome he’d ever received, “Oh, good! I think we’ll have some fun together, just like old times, right, Lovi?”

“Don’t call me Lovi, you fucker!” He screeched, kicking the still laughing Antonio off of the bed, which was most fun he’d had since arriving in States. Perhaps Antonio was right…they were going to have some fun.

For the next year, Lovino found himself waiting with odd anticipation for the weekends that Antonio would visit, rushing to do all his homework during the week so that his nights would be free. Even though Antonio was still an idiot that smiled too much and had all the intelligence of a brick wall, Lovino couldn’t help but have a good time as they drank too much cheap American beer or watched stupid movies late into the night settled on Lovino’s ratty dorm couch, both of them wishing for the comforts of home. With each visit, Antonio stayed later and later into the night, sometimes falling asleep on the couch, head coming perilously close to dropping onto Lovino’s shoulder as they sat just a little too close to one another. He called more often, texted stupid stories about his day at random intervals, interrupting the monotony of lab after lab after lab.

(Though he never told Antonio, Lovino saved every one of the messages, telling himself it was so he could laugh at the man’s idiocy when he was having a shitty day.)

He liked it less when Antonio snuck him into bars or parties on the weekends he braved the trip to San Francisco, watching the way that everyone in the room seemed to gravitate towards the man. How Antonio smiled for them as brightly and sincerely as he smiled for Lovino. He hated his easy, effortless popularity, and he hated the unpleasant feeling he didn’t understand gnawing away at his insides each time he watched this scene play out. On nights like those his temper got particularly vicious and the unfair hurt confusion that bloomed in Antonio’s eyes when he would tell him to fuck off only made him angrier.

But the moron always came back for more, showing up again like nothing had happened.

Until the night that, only days before finals, when Antonio said, “I’m leaving next week, to go home to Spain” in a quiet, sad voice that broke that unnamed something in Lovino, who turned away from Antonio’s outstretched hand to hide his shock and disappointment, callously responding, “Who gives a fuck?”

His mind raced as a sick feeling spread in his veins, a queasy need to cry or protest bubbling up through his throat. Somehow he’d forgotten that Antonio was three years older and that his responsibilities would call him home again before Lovino had even had a chance to come of legal drinking age in this godforsaken country.

He’d forgotten that he was going to be left alone again.

Antonio then did something new and wonderfully terrifying, embracing Lovino from behind, pressing his face into the crook of his neck as Lovino prayed that he couldn’t feel the racing of his pulse. Hesitantly, Lovino placed his hands over the large, tan fingers resting on his stomach, holding his breath.

“Come say goodbye to me at the airport?” Antonio whispered, causing goosebumps to break out over Lovino’s skin.

“What the fuck for?” Lovino replied with a nervous shake in his voice, as he struggled to keep his body perfectly still.

“Because I’m going to miss my cute Lovino most of all and I want you there with me,” Antonio sighed and leaned in closer. Lovino’s heart was now threatening to jump out of his chest and then he felt lips pressing lightly on his cheek, a light hovering warmth.

And it was too much and too confusing and too close to the dreams that he’d been trying to ignore and he shoved Antonio away, immediately regretting the action but too scared to take it back.

Antonio made a disappointed noise, the sound of his feet moving on the shitty dorm room carpet as he made his way to the door echoed in Lovino’s ears. He didn’t want it be like this.

Still turned away, Lovino pinched his own arm to quell the racing of his heart, voice shaking as he said, “Hey, asshole. I’ll come say goodbye.”

 

And that’s exactly what he set out to do one week later, shuffling through the crowds at San Francisco International Airport, trying to summon his courage to maybe let Antonio try what it seemed like he had been trying to do that night again.

 _It might be ok, just this once to try_ , he thought as he rounded the corner, _even though the idiot is leaving, I won’t be stuck here forever and then maybe…_

That thought died, along with his fragile, hidden hope, when Lovino saw that this wasn’t going to be the farewell for two that he’d envisioned; a little fantasy of kissing and Antonio’s smiling face when he heard Lovino’s halting confession. Because there was Antonio, not alone at all, not waiting, and definitely not appearing to be wanting, if the mellow grin on his face was anything to go by. The bastard was surrounded by friends, one of them actually clinging to his arm, murmuring into his ear.

Stomach curdling with hurt and jealousy, Lovino turned on his heel and walked away; cursing his stupidity in ever believing that he would be special to that man. That he was good enough to matter. He viciously squashed the insistent little voice that told him to go back, to not run away, that Antonio wouldn’t do this to him deliberately.

He sat on a dirty bench outside, ignoring the vibration of his phone and deleting the text messages without reading them, until the time for Antonio’s departure had passed. He closed his eyes, burying the memories of nights sitting too close together on a couch, of hands lingering too long when they brushed accidentally, of smiles that he’d thought were for him alone, of the feeling of lips on his cheek.

 _No more of this shit, I’ll never let myself be this fucking stupid again_.

Lovino stood, brushed off his pants, hailed a cab and went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovino is supposed to be attending UC Davis--they have the best scientific/technical viticulture program in the US:  
> http://wineserver.ucdavis.edu/content.php?category=Undergraduate%20Program).  
> Looooots of hard sciences courses for poor Lovino to slog through.


	3. Chapter 2

Lovino dropped his bag squarely at Antonio’s feet, crossing his arms over his chest and warily eying him warily. The idiot was grinning; eyes alight with excitement, as disheveled and unfortunately good looking as ever. The same could not be said for his appearance---wrinkled slacks and a white shirt flecked with wine and other mystery stains.

Lovino noted this with vicious satisfaction, forgoing a greeting for scathing criticism, “You look like shit.”

Antonio looked bemused as he picked up Lovino’s bag, holding out his other hand to shake, “Not even a hello, Lovino? Some things really do never change.”

Lovino shot him a sharp glance, wondering if Antonio was deliberately trying to remind him of that time in their lives that they did not talk about. Not talking about that year in America was Lovino’s number one unspoken requirement for the possibility of continuing any connection between them.

Deciding that it was best not to get pissed off within one minute of starting his new life, Lovino let the remark slide, firmly shaking Antonio’s hand, refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was flushing ( _clearly_ , _the Spanish didn’t know how to properly air condition their airports)_ muttering, “Ciao, Antonio. Can we get the fuck out of here already? It’s hot.”

“Of course,” Antonio said good-naturedly, gesturing for Lovino to walk ahead. Lovino immediately started striding towards the exit, grateful for the easy escape, only to trip over his own feet when Antonio called out with embarrassingly genuine enthusiasm, “By the way, you absolutely don’t look like shit! I think you get better looking every time I see you!”

 

Thanks to that little stunt at the airport, Lovino treated Antonio to the silent treatment during the first hour of the car ride from Bilbao to the Bodega Carriedo, which was nestled in the hills outside of Haro, occupying acres and acres of prime La Rioja real estate. He pointedly ignored Antonio’s conversational overtures, punishing the idiot for starting off their new business relationship on such an awkward note. Eventually the persistent bastard gave up; humming along to the radio instead, seemingly content to wait out Lovino’s hissy fit. 

Lovino kept his eyes firmly focused on the passing countryside, refusing to give into the temptation to watch Antonio as he drove, long fingers tapping on the wheel, the muscles of his legs flexing in his abominably ugly khaki pants as he worked the pedals. He tried to keep his mind focused on the task ahead, reciting everything and anything he knew about the wines of La Rioja, which was not an insignificant amount. Frowning, it crossed his mind that he had that fucker Rome to thank for that, a thought that was promptly shoved back down his mental oubliette.

Facts, figures, and poetic descriptions of tasting notes scrolled through his head as he idly observed the lovely rolling hills covered with climbing acres of vineyards and the sharper peaks that broke the hazy blue horizon, feeling a growing sense of excitement for the chance to start anew, in spite of the… _complication_ …sitting next to him.

The Bodega Carriedo, historically one of the best known wineries for producing fine Rioja, was now his for the reshaping, as Antonio had more or less promised him complete control over production as the wine maker. He professed that he had lost all interest in it following the death of his mother. Lovino halted his eager and increasingly ambitious daydreams, offering up a prayer for the soul of the Carriedo matriarch, vowing to carry on her proud legacy. It was, after all, a promise he’d already made once.

 _Two years prior ~ Haro, Spain_

 _Lovino was hiding, pacing up and down the length of some unknown alley in the middle of Haro, trying to keep the rain from ruining his impeccable black suit and new leather shoes, attempting to work up the nerve to walk into the café and be alone with Antonio Fernandez Carriedo for the first time since he was nineteen._

 _Oh, they had seen each other many times in the past five years, crossing paths at industry events, shared gatherings for the wine world’s glitterati. Lovino had carefully maintained the attitude he painstakingly cultivated in the wake of Antonio’s…departure…an attitude of absolute disinterest and disdainful arrogance._

 _At first Antonio had tried to broach the subject of what had gone wrong that day with phone calls and voicemails and emails and endless streams of text messages only to receive Lovino’s patently false reply that he had no idea what he was talking about. Eventually recognizing that Lovino could be an impassable brick wall of stubbornness when so inclined, Antonio gave up that line of questioning. Lovino wasn’t foolish enough to think that the desire to know the truth wasn’t lurking in Antonio’s gaze even as they engaged in mundane conversations about the value of traditional corks._

 _And so, though his pulse quickened and his face warmed every single fucking time he laid eyes on the man again, in whatever crowded room, for whatever reason, Lovino determinedly rebuffed Antonio’s repeated entreaties to go out for dinner, a drink, a coffee, a walk, an anything._

 _Even though Antonio’s ever present smile would always slip slightly in the wake of Lovino’s brusque rejection, he refused to feel guilt or regret when he inevitably saw the man surrounded by a crowd of admirers and friends before the night’s end. He refused to make the same mistake again._

 _It was far too dangerous, the risk too high; for while he doubted all of Antonio’s intentions, he doubted his own resolve even more._

 _But this time he could not refuse the invitation. He did not have the heart or the desire to say no to Antonio’s hurried and pleading request for Lovino to meet him, only hours after his mother’s funeral._

 _Cursing his own idiotic cowardice, Lovino abandoned his back alley hideaway, entering the steamy warmth of the café, spotting Antonio at a corner table, looking small and lost while staring aimlessly at the falling rain._

 _He looked up and smiled wanly at Lovino’s approach, “Hello, Lovino. Thank you for coming.”_

 _“Don’t be stupid,” Lovino murmured, voice free of its usual bite as he sat, waving to the waiter for a coffee. He noticed the circles under Antonio’s eyes, the slight shake in his hands that was causing his cup to rattle in its saucer. He cleared his throat, “Are you alright?”_

 _Antonio set down his cup, reaching across the table and taking Lovino’s hand, “No. But I will be.”_

 _Lovino stiffened, but didn’t pull away, letting his fingers rest limply in Antonio’s until his coffee came, giving him the reason he need to take back his hand._

 _His companion sighed, looking at his now empty hand, “It’s nice to see you.”_

 _There was such fragility in Antonio’s eyes that Lovino wanted to reach back across the table, but comfort had never been his strong suit and he felt even more out of his depth here, faced with the man who caused his whole being to be thrown into chaos. Instead, he nodded and looked away, wrapping his cold fingers around the cup, letting the moment fall to silence._

 _The rain fell unrelentingly, a noisy distraction as it splattered on the café windows. Lovino’s heart felt as though it was beating in time with the torrent, as he failed in his struggle to come up with something, anything to say._

 _As always, even now, Antonio took the initiative, asking as he stirred his lukewarm coffee, “How long are you staying here?”_

 _“We’re leaving tonight,” he responded, and then felt compelled to do something he rarely did in the wake of Antonio’s undisguised disappointment, apologizing “I’m sorry.”_

 _Antonio nodded, returning his attention to the table. Lovino shifted awkwardly in his chair, finally deciding that it was better to say something than just leave the man wallowing in this awkward silence._

 _“What will you do now? Take over the Bodega?”_

 _“Yes. It was my mother’s wish. Though, you know, Lovino, between you and me, I am not sure about it all.”_

 _The lost and slightly panicked look was once again marring Antonio’s handsome features and before he could stop himself, Lovino mumbled, “If you ever need help, I’ll help you.”_

 _Antonio’s eyes widened, coming to life for the first time in their conversation, “Really? You’d do that for me?”_

 _Lovino blushed, backpedaling though his voice was gentle, “Yeah, I’d do it for you. And your mother.”_

 _Antonio smiled a little, voice soft, “That would make her happy, I am sure. You’ve made me happy.”_

 _Lovino turned away, sipping his coffee in the hopes that the cup would hide his flush._

 _“Who knows? Maybe you can come work with me one day!”_

 _Lovino snorted, breaking the solemnity of the hour, “Don’t get carried away, asshole!”_

 

“Lovino! Lovino! Are you awake?” Antonio’s insistent and happy voice broke through Lovino’s reverie, memories scattering on the wind as he shook himself out of the daydream stupor.

“Yeah, what the fuck is it?” He growled, unhappy to have been disturbed.

“Do you want to stop for dinner? This village has excellent food!”

Lovino considered it. He wasn’t overly hungry or overly inclined to say yes to Antonio at the moment, and he was anxious to get to the Bodega, to start running his hands over every inch of what was to become his new canvas.

“Fuck it. Let’s just get to the Bodega. I want to get started right away. We’re already midway through the growing season and I need to get in there if I’m going to be able to do anything. The weather has been fucking ideal so far and if the harvest yield is what I think it can be, we could produce something really goddamned impressive. But it’s going to take a shit ton of work to do it in time.” Lovino explained, unable to keep either the anxiety or the excitement from his voice.

Antonio smiled at him indulgently, braving Lovino’s wrath to pat his knee, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, “Of course, Lovino! But I was thinking we could also have some fun together! I want to show you all of the wonderful things about my home! I’ll take you out to dinner at the best little secret places, to the beach on weekends, to all the festivals and celebrations!”

Annoyed and alarmed, Lovino shoved Antonio’s hand off his leg, pulling off his sunglasses and speaking sharply, “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not here to run around having playtime with you, you idiot! I’m here to do my goddamned job and do it well and show everyone that I’m not to be fucked with. So I don’t know what this shit is you’re talking about right now. I’m here because you’ve been begging for me to come work for you every month for two years, you persistent little fuck.”

Lovino took a breath ignoring Antonio’s disappointed pout, calming down, sliding his sunglasses back on his nose, “You wanted me to work with you so badly because you know I’m skilled and good at what I do, right?”

Lovino instantly grew suspicious when Antonio’s look turned cagey, “I better be right, goddamn you!”

Antonio’s face cleared and he smiled widely at Lovino, brightly declaring, “Of course that’s why! I trust you with my whole heart to do a great job!”

Anger defeated as his heart skipped a beat, he slumped back into the seat, huffing, “Just shut up and drive, you ass.”

 

The Bodega Carriedo was gorgeous, Lovino thought, feeling momentarily guilty for cheating on the Villa Solare. But it couldn’t be denied: sun-bleached stone buildings surrounded by a stone wall that secreted away a courtyard of mosaic tile and a bubbling fountain, happily situated in the midst of endless rows of gnarled vines bearing the fruit that gave the Bodega its reason for existence. All of this set against the blue Iberian sky and a gently sloped landscape.

Feeling generous in the presence of such beauty, Lovino deigned to give Antonio his approval of what he saw, which set-off a chain reaction of overly enthusiastic exclamations from Antonio and annoyed protestations and recantations from Lovino. This lasted throughout the tour of the Bodega’s personal quarters until they reached the bedroom that was to be Lovino’s.

“Ah, ah! Here we are! Your new room, Lovino! I hope you like it.”

Still irritated, Lovino shouted, “Well, I fucking don’t!” before actually walking through the door. When he did, he found the room had clearly been carefully redecorated as it seemed to be far more modern than the rest of the house. He chucked his bag in the corner, turning to Antonio, confusion and skepticism written all over him.

Antonio looked sheepish, scuffing his feet on the floor, “I wanted you to be at home so I called Feliciano for advice on what kind of room you would want.”

Lovino’s stomach was suddenly churning with the force of a thousand angry butterflies, “What the hell?!”

“Do you like it?” His new landlord asked in the manner of a puppy begging for a pat on the head.

“It’s….ok,” Lovino acquiesced begrudgingly, “But it’s a waste of goddamned effort since I’m never going to be in here.”

Antonio’s stance stiffened, his voice going hard, “Oh? And where exactly will you be sleeping?”

“Are you stupid? Of course I’ll sleep here but I’m going to be too busy fixing your goddamned winery to do anything but that.”

Antonio took a step closer, smiling and happy once again, “You’ve become quite the little busy bee! You never used to work this hard when we were younger!”

Lovino rolled his eyes, sitting on the bed to toe off his shoes, “No shit. I am a fucking grown man now, or are you too dense to notice that?”

And that was clearly the wrong thing to say as Lovino was alarmed to see a sudden spark of interested heat in Antonio’s gaze, which was now shamelessly raking up and down his body.

“Oh, I promise you that I’ve noticed,” Antonio nearly purred, taking yet another step closer.

Panicking, Lovino threw his shoe, hitting Antonio squarely in the chest, leaving a small black smudge of polish to rest among the wine stains.

Antonio looked down in surprise and then burst into laughter while Lovino wanted to bury his face in the pillow out of angry embarrassment, “So much for that maturity growth, eh, Lovino?”

“Just get the fuck out, asshole!” He said tiredly, pointing at the door.

Antonio held up his hands in defeat, still laughing as he retreated, “Ok, ok, just don’t throw any more shoes at me!”

And just as he was about to close the door and finally leave Lovino to sulk in peace, Antonio turned back, eyes still shining with amusement and something deeper, murmuring in a warm, honeyed tone, “I am so glad you are here.”

The door shut and Lovino closed his eyes letting the parting words echo in his mind and in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La Rioja: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Rioja_%28Spain%29
> 
> Haro, Spain: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haro,_La_Rioja


	4. Chapter 3

For the next four weeks, Lovino worked harder than he had ever worked in his life. He spent mornings in the vineyards, wandering up and down the rows of carefully planted vines, casting a critical professional eye on the progress of the fruit set and grape growth during those crucial weeks of late spring. He met with the staff, interrogating them about irrigation practices and their insider knowledge of Spanish weather patterns. He made notes on his iPad as he bent down over and over again, running his fingers over gnarled wood, cradling nascent bunches in his palms, and leaving very few of the acres of this new kingdom untouched by his eager hands.

 _Tempranillo coming in exceptionally well. Low yield, but likely to produce intense, robust fruit. Grenache looks promising-- may need to consider green harvest to ensure quality. Viura has standard progress; speak to A about potential for new fermentation process?_

He took pleasure in the feel of the dusty earth on his skin, even as it gritted in his teeth and caked his clothes when the winds kicked up, not even minding much when it lingered beneath his nails. On his very first morning, alone in the quiet of dawn, as the sun crested golden and revelatory over the hills, he’d dragged one finger through the dirt that gave life to the oldest vines on the property, and then touched it to his tongue, wanting to know the taste of the terroir. 

 _Chalk and clay, sun drenched arid limestone…and perhaps, in the poetry of it all, a touch of history and the deep, rich, flavor of potential._

With this taste in his mouth and the sight of the steadily ripening fruit in his eyes, Lovino began to believe that in this place he had the chance to create something special.

When the heat of the afternoon became nigh unbearable, Lovino descended the stone steps into the welcome coolness of the cellar, eyes adjusting to the shadowed cavern as he soaked in the unmistakable scent of wine fermenting slowly and surely in French oak. With each trip below ground he was momentarily taken aback by the power of the memories this scent conjured, from his youngest days trailing in the wake of Grandpa Rome’s confident strides as he surveyed his underground riches to the long hours he had spent siphoning young wine from the barrels of the Villa Solare.

He would pause a moment, inhaling deeply, even as his back ached from the long morning in the fields, letting his senses come alive. Lovino spent endless afternoons and evenings working his way through the Bodega Carriedo library, finding enjoyment both as a professional and an aficionado in experiencing several decades’ worth of apparent devotion to wine making. It was only when he reached the more recent vintages, particularly those from the years immediately preceding and following the death of Antonio’s mother, that he discovered the change. While he could not fault the technical precision or even the quality of the wines, it was obvious to him from the moment they splashed against his tongue that these were lacking both creativity and passion.

 _'Ahhh_ ,' he thought at the time _,_ swirling the normally potent and complex red in his mouth, _'so that’s why he’s been so insistent that I come here.''_

Gratified and not a little touched by the show of confidence, this revelation led Lovino to believe that he had finally uncovered the reason that Antonio wanted him here so badly. _He really did need my skills!_ Bolstered by this supposed discovery and determined to prove himself worthy of such consideration, he redoubled his efforts.

Over several days, ensconced in the cellar, he carefully blended the bold earth flavors of the previous year’s Tempranillo with the bright spicy berry of the Grenache, marrying the two varietals into a blend that would please both Old World and New World palates. It was delicate, intricate, intuitive work that Lovino enjoyed deeply, feeling as though his hands were just the latest in many millennia’s worth of artisans perfecting their craft, his confidence growing with each day that he teased out his own creation from the rich offerings of the Bodega.

The demanding intensity of his tasks also provided Lovino with the convenient excuse to avoid Antonio’s frequent and irritatingly persistent overtures. He shook his head as he piped out a taste of a young Viura, waving around the delicate pipette as he performed Antonio’s impassioned pleas in a mocking tone for the empty cellar, enjoying the way his voice echoed off the walls:

 _“Lovino! Would you like some breakfast? I’ll make it for you!_

 _“Lovino! You’re working so hard, come have lunch with me on the veranda!”_

 _“Lovino! I’ve missed you all day! Where have you been? Please have dinner with me!”_

 _“Lovino! Isn’t the weather beautiful today! We should take a siesta in the sunshine!”_

He snorted, “Fuck, like that bastard thinks all I have to do all day is eat three meals and take a goddamned nap!”

Lovino paused, considering that in actuality that kind of life was pretty damned appealing, before remembering that he had a mission and it wasn’t his fucking fault if that moron never seemed to take a hint. He left Antonio to handle the front of the house, doing what he did best; namely, being disgustingly charming with the tourists that came through to taste the wine, meeting with distributors and wine buyers, and generally being as obnoxiously popular with everyone as he ever was. Lovino avoided the tasting room like the plague, uninterested in seeing Antonio fawn over the sunburned hoards of idiotic women and men who fluttered their eyelashes at him as they downed their wine.

And so he managed to fall into a comfortable routine of rebuffing Antonio’s offers of food, company, and afternoon naps at least two times a day, while also managing to get the man to stop mooning over every little thing he did long enough to have semi-professional exchanges of information. Those conversations consisted of Lovino’s rapid fire offering of facts and opinions, blustering as he demanded permission to move forward with his plans. Antonio always nodded seriously as he listened and then inevitably broke into a bright smile as he waved his hands and said, “Go ahead, Lovino! Whatever you think is best! Boss trusts you!”

Though he rolled his eyes at the lameness of calling oneself “boss,” he always left these meetings with an unrelenting fluttering in his stomach; Antonio’s trust and regard warming him in places that he thought were permanently frozen by too many years of the doubt and derision of others.

 

After this month of endless activity, Lovino was exhausted but pleased with the progress, feeling no shortage of pride at the work that had been accomplished as he flopped down in contented exhaustion onto his unmade bed one evening. He closed his eyes, attempting to ignore the growling of his stomach, feeling too lazy to make his feet move towards the kitchen. His internal debate of “ _food vs. sleep”_ was interrupted by the tinny ring of his cell phone. Cracking open one eye and flinging out his arm towards the bedside table, he grabbed the phone, a genuine smile creeping across his face when he read the caller ID: _Veronique_.

He let the smile be heard in his voice as he answered the call, settling back on the pillows, “Couldn’t live without me, huh?

 _“I see Spain hasn’t done anything about that baseless ego of yours!”_

Lovino let the sound of her laughter wash over him, a balm to the homesickness he’d been steadfastly burying under mountains of work.

“Hello, Veronique.”

“ _Bonsoir, Lovino_. _How are you? Is the Bodega treating you well?”_

“I’m decent enough. Working like a fucking dog to try and get shit ready in time for harvest. The Bodega treats me fine, though its owner is nothing compared to the manager of the Villa Solare,” Lovino flirted lightly.

 _Veronique chuffed, “Oh, reaaaaally? You’re telling me that Antonio doesn’t spoil you endlessly?”_

Lovino was about to give a scathing response to that bullshit when his stomach chose to make his desperate hunger clear to everyone within a five foot radius (extended by several orders of magnitude through the wonders of cellular technology) by growling loudly. He could hear Veronique’s amused laughter; triggering memories of the times she giggled and pointed at his loudly protesting stomach as they stood together late at night in the kitchen of the Villa, hurriedly tearing off chunks of bread to drag through pools of olive oil in order to stave off their hunger until morning.

 _“For god’s sake you idiot, go get something to eat!”_ She screeched, beforehe heard her less than subtle grumblings, _“Men! Can’t even expect them to take care of themselves. Now who can’t live without whom!?”_

He grunted in response, forcing his body to leave the comforts of the soft mattress, bare feet padding softly out of the room, arguing as he walked, “I’ll have you know I’ve been managing just fucking fine on my own, thank you.”

 _“Oh? How so?”_ Veronique replied in an arch tone, clearly unconvinced.

He trailed down the stairs, guided by the beckoning light of the kitchen, “I’ve been working this place as hard as I can and I don’t even need you to nag me to do it.” He paused, dropping into a conspiratorial tone tinged with excitement, “I gotta tell you, V, I think I could do something amazing here.”

 _“Really? That’s so great! You do sound happy. Have you told Antonio?”_

Lovino stopped outside the kitchen door, brow furrowing as his earlier intended rant returned to him, “What the fuck is up with you and asking about that bastard? And what the hell did you mean is he spoiling me rotten? What do you know about it?”

Veronique giggled, a tinkling little laugh that obviously meant, ‘I know something you don’t know.’

 _“Oh nothing! Just woman’s intuition!”_

Annoyed, Lovino flung open the door to the kitchen, immediately hit with a burst of fragrant warm air and the unexpected sight of Antonio at the stove, shirtsleeves rolled up and hair curling in the humidity as he tended to several pots and pans. Antonio turned around at the loud interruption, a smile breaking across his face when he spotted Lovino.

Lovino waved him off when he opened his mouth to doubtless spew some nonsense, leaning against the doorway, cradling the phone between his neck and his ear in order to cross his arms over his chest, suddenly self-conscious in his white undershirt. Antonio favored him with a long, appreciative stare and then winked and gestured for him to sit at the table.

Lovino rolled his eyes and returned his attention to Veronique, who was chirping, _“Hello? Lovino? Are you still there?”_

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Just got distracted for a minute. But listen, cut it out with that woman's intuition shit.”

 _“Suit yourself!”_

“I always do.” He quipped before casting a wary glance at Antonio, who was trying very hard not to appear exceedingly interested in his conversation. “Listen, I gotta go, but tell me…how’s my baby?”

 _“I am going to assume you mean the Villa and not me! But in either case, we are both very well. Though missing you.”_

Lovino’s heart twisted a little at the thought of his old home, his voice wistful as he said, “That’s good. Make sure it stays that way.”

 _“Always.”_ Veronique replied affectionately, warming Lovino’s cheeks.

He uttered a hurried “Ciao” and ended the call before his eyes started to water. As soon as he’d hung up, Antonio was in his face, with a smile that didn’t quite match his narrowed and conflicted gaze, insisting, “Have dinner with me! There is plenty for two. Fresh fish and risotto!”

Lovino shoved past him, pacing a little as he debated. He was tired, hungry, and truth be told, the kitchen smelled divine and the idea of being alone at this moment seemed more daunting than the thought of sharing a meal with Antonio.

He slammed his body down into one of the chairs, making sure to scowl with extra force so that Antonio knew he was doing this under extreme duress, “Fine.”

Lovino looked away so as not to have to see Antonio’s shocked pleasure, though he heard it as the man exclaimed, “Really? Fantastic! Just sit there—I’ll have it ready in a moment! I hope you like it!”

To his great approval, Antonio brought him a glass of wine, a honey flavored and straw colored Albarino, chilled perfection for a warm night, and then left him to drink in comfortable silence. As Antonio tended the stove, Lovino’s eyes drifted shut to rhe sound of Antonio’s slow and contented humming.

It was kind of nice. Not that he would ever say so.  

After a few moments, his glass was empty and Lovino let out an impressive sigh as he started to heave his body out of the chair, only to be stopped by Antonio’s quiet yet firm voice, “Don’t. I’ll get it for you. You look so tired, Lovino.”

He snorted, “Yeah, I’m tired. Its fucking hard work trying to do this shit right.”

Antonio pulled the pans off of the stove, moving to plate the dishes, as he answered in an apologetic tone, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry, idiot. It’s my fucking job. Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

Antonio stilled for a moment, before turning and walking to the table, balancing two tempting plates in his hands. Lovino’s attention immediately deviated from Antonio’s suspicious behavior as he took in the culinary wonder set in front of him, his stomach commanding the full run of his senses. Antonio shuffled around the table, pouring them each another glass, leaving the bottle to rest in a bucket of ice.

Lovino’s first bite tasted as good as it smelled, the freshness of the fish and the richness of the almost risotto style rice pairing gloriously with the floral sweetness of the wine. The skill of even this simple dish was undeniable. He looked up at Antonio in surprise, only to find the man staring off into the distance, visage obviously perplexed.

 _'Ugh_ ,' he thought as he devoured his dinner, _'I bet that moron is still worrying about me being tired.''_

He savored a few more bites, finishing one glass and pouring them each another, before biting the bullet and deciding to relieve Antonio’s mind of its stupid concerns, “Hey, don’t get your panties in a twist about me working too much. If I don’t give a fuck, then neither should you.” He waved his fork for emphasis, continuing, “I’ve been meaning to tell you this…I think we can do something really fucking great with this year’s harvest. Maybe even try for a Gran Reserva.”

Antonio smiled, though his eyes remained distant, “That’s wonderful news, Lovino! I knew you could do it.”

 _'Not exactly the reaction I was going for…Well, whatever. I tried_!' Lovino thought, more interested in returning to his meal and his wine than letting his mind puzzle out exactly what was bothering Antonio. And so dinner lingered on in silence with only the sounds of knives scraping against plates and the splash of wine poured into glasses as company.

Eventually, Lovino pushed his plate away, full and satiated, edging his chair back from the table to sprawl ungracefully in his chair, wine glass dangling from his fingers as he let his head tilt back. Buzzed and tired enough to feel generous, he gave Antonio a lazy look, tossing out, “That was really good.”

That seemed to startle Antonio out of his weird sulk, “You think so?”

Lovino let his eyes close, “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it, dumbass.”

He heard the scrape of Antonio’s chair and footsteps moving towards the door to the courtyard. He wondered what was going on until he felt the warm night air breeze across his skin. The burbling of the fountain lulled him nearly to sleep as he waited for Antonio to join him at the table again.

“That makes me happy.” Antonio said, before settling back in his chair and sighing, “I always wanted to be a chef, you know.”

 _'No, I didn’t know that_ ,' Lovino thought, intrigued by the revelation, _'though it does explain a lot_. _Like why the Bodega’s recent wine tasted like a disinterested and passionless experiment in technical proficiency.'_

He said none of that, settling instead for asking, “Yeah? Even though you had all this waiting for you?”

Antonio hmmed thoughtfully, “It may seem selfish, but yes. I stay here because of my mother. If it weren’t for that, I would have left. Maybe opened a restaurant somewhere. But it was her wish.”

They shared a moment of quiet, both thinking about the Carriedo matriarch, before Antonio charged forward, breaking the melancholy, “Did you always want to be a vintner, Lovino?”

Lovino’s eyes opened, surprised by the question, which no one had ever asked him before. As a Vargas heir, his interest was always just assumed. He let the question percolate as he considered, holding the glass of wine up to the light, thinking about the first time Rome took him into one of the cellars and let him taste wine from the barrel, the first time he’d plucked ripened grapes from the vine, how determined he’d been when he first set foot on amongst the vineyards of the Villa Solare in spite of his angry disappointment at being passed over as second best.

With complete conviction, he answered, “Yeah, I’ve always fucking loved it.”

Antonio propped his head on his hand, making Lovino’s skin tingle in response to the intense, unreadable look in his green eyes, murmuring, “I think I’m jealous.”

 _'What the fuck?'_ ' Lovino thought, quickly swallowing more wine and trying to quell his flush, “What the fuck? Who gives a shit if you don’t want to be a wine maker? You’re good at this!” He moved his arm emphatically over their empty plates.

Antonio smiled slyly, “That wasn’t what I meant, but thank you.”

Eager to move away from that particular line of thought, Lovino responded without thinking, “Shit, I remember how good those omelets were that you used to make in my dorm room when we were drunk or hung-over using just a fucking hot plate and a ruler as a spatula..”

He froze, suddenly realizing that he’d broken his own rule and brought up the time in their lives that was not to be talked about.

Much to his relief, Antonio only looked happily surprised, simply replying, “You remember those?”

Sensing that this was the time to escape before this late night tete-a-tete could delve into any more intimate revelations about passions or unspeakable memories of the past, Lovino ignored the question and stood up from his chair, body and mind thickened and slowed by the wine and the food. He felt exhaustion creeping up to claim him entirely as he shuffled lazily towards the door.

Antonio’s hesitant voice made him pause, “Who were you talking to earlier?”

He shot him a halfhearted dirty look over his shoulder, too tired to get into an argument, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I was talking to my old colleague, Veronique.”

Antonio’s eyes darkened as he asked in a low tone, “Is she your 'baby'?” He nearly spat the last word, lips frowning in distaste.

Lovino’s heart raced as his palm rested on the doorknob. _Was that why Antonio had looked so weird? Was he jealous?_ He wondered why his normal inclination to yell and shout and tell Antonio to fuck off had abandoned him, only to be replaced by a desperate and demanding need to dispel all of Antonio’s doubts. Why couldn’t he bring himself to lie and say _yes, she’s my lover_ , and effectively end Antonio’s idiotic charade once and for all?

Almost unbidden, “No,” fell from his lips, in a horrifying breathy whisper, “…the Villa. That’s my baby.” Instantly he felt stupid and ashamed, wanting nothing more than to be away from Antonio’s intense regard.

“Good.” Antonio declared, voice once again freed of anything but delight.

Before it could get any worse, before Antonio could demand anything else from his unwilling heart, before his body could betray him any further, Lovino bolted from the room, knowing that he should never have sat down for that dinner, feeling his resolve crumble with each fleeing step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fruit set: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annual_growth_cycle_of_grapevines  
> Tempranillo: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tempranillo  
> Grenache: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grenache  
> Viura: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viura  
> Green harvest: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viticulture  
> Albarino: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albari%C3%B1o
> 
> Rioja Gran Reserva: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rioja_%28wine%29#Classification


	5. Interlude: Everyone is Full of Helpful Advice

**Date: June 15 th, 20XX**

 **From: Lovino Vargas**

 **To: Feliciano Vargas**

 **Subject: It’s about time you figured out how to do this**

Feliciano,

It’s about goddamned time that I heard from you---what the fuck have you been doing in Italy? It better not be anything to do with that German bastard. And no, don’t give me that excuse that you can never remember the password to your email.  How many times do I have to tell you to write that shit down (NOT ON YOUR HAND!) Fuck, it’s a wonder you have been able to survive without me these past six weeks.

Anyways, I’m fine, so stop worrying. Busy. Trying to make wine and avoid my fucking stalker is hard work. I make the mistake of eating one goddamned meal with that guy and now he won’t leave me alone.

Thank God those years of avoiding that fucker Rome made me stealthy. Like some Spanish moron could pull one over on me anyways.

No, you cannot tell fucking Ludwig I said hello. FUCK NO you cannot tell Rome I said hello. My only hello for the Tenuta is for you.

Stay away from Germans and be good,

-Lovino

 **Date: June 15 th, 20XX**

 **From: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo**

 **To: Feliciano Vargas**

 **Subject: Hello!!**

Hola, Adorable Feliciano!

How are you? I am doing very good and I think that Lovino is having more fun that he likes to say, but he’s always been that way, no? ;)

He had dinner with me the other night and even said he liked my cooking!! But now he always says he’s too busy (he uses other not very nice words too, but those aren’t for your cute ears!) and I would really really like to eat with him again! He looks so happy and relaxed when he thinks I’m not looking!

So I thought maybe if I made all his favorite foods maybe he’d say yes again! Please, please, will you help me, Feliciano?

~~~~Antonio~~~~

 **Date: June 20 th, 20XX**

 **From: Feliciano Vargas**

 **To: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo**

 **Subject: Re: Hello!!**

Antonio!!!

I am sorry I’ve been slow to respond! I lost my password again but then Ludwig fixed it for me! He scowled and lectured a lot, which reminded me of brother, so I got sad and asked for a hug to make me feel better and then Ludwig turned bright red. But he hugged me anyways!

Si, of course I will help you! It is very important to me that Lovino eats lots of food that he likes because I want brother to be happy and it is very important to me that you get to have more dinners with him because I want you to be happy too!!!

The list is attached! Don’t tell brother I told you or he’ll yell at me!!

Feliciano

 **Date: June 22 nd, 20XX**

 **From: Lovino Vargas**

 **To: Veronique Bruxelles**

 **Subject: Weird Spanish Shit**

My beautiful Belgian—

You used to live in this godforsaken country. Is there anything I should know about June 29th?

Two days ago Antonio asked me to start setting aside any of the cast-off wine or blend varietals I didn’t need. He looked suspicious so I asked him and he says it’s for a religious holiday on June 29th.

Of course, I gotta support the Church, but anything this asshole asks me do always has unintended consequences.

Ciao,

Lovino

 **Date: June 22 nd, 20XX**

 **From: Lovino Vargas**

 **To: Veronique Bruxelles**

 **Subject: Re: Weird Spanish Shit**

Fine. If you say it’s just a Catholic thing, then I’ll trust you. I always trust pretty women!

What do I mean unintended consequences? Ugh, I had dinner once with that fucker and now it’s like I’m permanently etched in his goddamned datebook.

I can hear what you’re thinking from a thousand kilometers away and I repeat:

Quit that women’s intuition shit.

There is nothing going on here. I refuse to eat with him again no matter how many times he asks. Fuck, he’s so annoying.

~L

 **Date: June 23 rd, 20XX**

 **From: Lovino Vargas**

 **To: Feliciano Vargas**

 **Subject: Re: Are you eating well?**

Feliciano,

What the fuck? Why do you want to know what I’ve been eating? (Also, why the hell did it take you so long to respond? Did you fuck up your account again?)

Since you’re so curious, you fucking weirdo, last night I had pasta alla norma for dinner. It was acceptable. For not being made by an Italian.

Do you also want to know if I brushed my teeth? What clothes I wore? Damn, you are so strange.

-L

Ps—your password is Veneziano, moron. WRITE IT DOWN.

 **Date: June 25 th, 20XX**

 **From: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo**

 **To: Feliciano Vargas**

 **Subject: Re: Hello!!**

It worked! It worked! THANK YOU!!!!

I’ve made three of Lovino’s favorites and even though he yells at me a bit, he’s stayed with me every time and eaten it all! (I had to make more of the caponata, he ate so much of it! It was so cute!)

Last night, after the spaghetti di puttanesca, he said he was so full he couldn’t move and called me an evil bastard, but then he said yes when I asked him to sit outside with me (so I guess I’m not _too_ evil ;) and we drank wine and talked until he fell asleep in his chair.

Uh-oh! Here he comes now and he looks adorably angry with me! Maybe I shouldn’t have let him sleep in that chair for so long, but it was so cute I couldn’t help myself!

To make it up to him, tonight I’ll make another dish on your list!

~~~Antonio~~~

 **Date: June 27 th, 20XX**

 **From: Lovino Vargas**

 **To: Feliciano Vargas**

 **Subject: Re: Are you eating well?**

FELICIANO YOU IDIOTIC WASTE OF A BROTHER! DID YOU TELL THAT BASTARD ANTONIO WHAT I LIKE TO EAT?!

I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT SOMETHING SHADY WAS GOING ON WHEN THAT SPANISH IDIOT MADE PERFECT COUSCOUS AL PESCE! THAT’S A SILICIAN DISH! YOU SOLD OUT ITALY TO THE SPANIARDS!

WORSE, YOU HAVE BETRAYED YOUR ONLY BROTHER. ALLOWED HIM TO FALL VICTIM TO FUCKING EVIL SPANISH PLOTS.

I WILL REMEMBER THIS, FELICIANO!

NO LOVE

LOVINO

 **Date: June 27 th, 20XX**

 **From: Ludwig Beilschmidt**

 **To: Lovino Vargas**

 **Subject: Fwd: Re: Are you eating well?**

Lovino,

Please do not yell at Feliciano in such a manner (even if his idiocy has given you grounds to so.) It causes him to cling to me very unprofessionally and his tears are staining my shirt.

Regards,

Ludwig Beilschmidt.

 **Date: June 27 th, 20XX**

 **From: Lovino Vargas**

 **To: Ludwig Beilschmidt**

 **Subject: Fwd: Re: Are you eating well?**

I will kill you, you potato-eating fucker. 

Get away from my brother. Now.

 **Date: June 28 th, 20XX**

 **From: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo**

 **To: Francis Bonnefoy**

 **Subject: Help!**

Dear Francis,

I need your help, old friend! I took your advice and asked Feliciano about Lovino’s favorite foods and it was working! I made them every night for a week and for the first few days it was wonderful but then all of a sudden yesterday after he finished eating, he got very quiet for a moment, counting something on his fingers and then he looked at me and his face went as red as a tomato (cute!) and then he left which made me sad because I’d baked the dessert Feliciano said he liked! I’m not sure what went wrong. Maybe the couscous wasn’t very good?

Since then he’s been banging very loudly on his computer and shouting something about killing potatoes and hiding from me in the cellar. I think he’s mad at me again, Francis!

Tomorrow is the festival in El Haro. He only said he would go because he was a good Catholic and it was his duty to attend even if he had to go with sacrilegious little shits like me. I want him to have a good time, so should I tell him what’s really going to happen?

Love,

Antonio

 **Date: June 28 th, 20XX**

 **From: Francis Bonnefoy**

 **To: Antonio Fernandez Carriedo**

 **Subject: Re: Help!**

My sweet, simple, Antonio,

Perhaps making his favorites so many days in a row was a bit of a giveaway, non? I’m afraid that you and poor Feliciano have been caught red handed and now your little Italian firebrand is very likely scaring the curl out of his brother’s hair.

He’s avoiding you? No angry protestations or throwing of dishes? How interesting…

As for the festival tomorrow, no, you should definitely not tell him! Everyone likes to be surprised by their paramour, every now and then! I promise, and who would know better than I?

Do tell me how it goes, darling.

And good luck!

~Francis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Pasta-alla-Norma-235853  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caponata  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spaghetti_alla_puttanesca


	6. Chapter 4

The early morning of June 29th dawned hot and spectacularly sunny, a classic summer reveille; a morning that did not in the least accurately reflect Lovino’s current mood as he scowled at his sleepy reflection in the bedroom mirror, struggling to get his red tie precisely knotted. Downing another shot of espresso in the hopes of being awake enough to deal with Antonio for the first time since he had cleverly exposed his sneaky dinner plot, Lovino wondered why he had agreed to go to this festival at all.

Yes, it was a holy celebration of San Pedro and as a dedicated Catholic he was obligated to attend, but his tired mind blasphemously wondered if San Pedro really would have minded his mass being said a little later in the day. Lovino also had no idea why San Pedro required such specific sartorial choices for his celebration, namely a white shirt and red scarf. Lovino drew the line at the red scarf, opting instead for the much more suitable option of a red silk tie over the crisp white shirt that he’d had personally tailored as a reward for the first gold medal his wine ever received. San Pedro was just going to have be satisfied with this more stylish Italian version of honor and reverence. _What saint wouldn’t want his worshippers to be well dressed?_ He finished mussing his hair and then sat anxiously on the edge of his bed, waiting for the inevitable knock on the door that signaled his hiding time was up.

As the clock inched towards their previously agreed to time of departure, Lovino tried to determine how best to confront the bastard. His embarrassment at having been so thoroughly bamboozled by two idiots in cahoots compelled him to exact revenge for such an act, but there was another voice in his mind that insisted on other, more pleasurable options; a voice that was slowly but surely emerging from a period of long dormancy wanting to shout as louder than his pride and anger. It snuck up on him when he was alone in the cellar, his thoughts wandering without permission to what Antonio was doing across the courtyard. It whispered to him in the morning, in his semi-waking dreams of happy smiles. And it was getting worse with each passing day, slipping in unannounced more and more frequently.

This little insistent voice, no matter how hard he tried to shut it down, to will it away, it told him, “ _Don’t be so fucking stupid! You knew from the first moment that he served you the pasta all norma that this was special for you and you alone. You let it go on for days, bullshitting yourself  and pretending ignorance as you went down to the kitchen those nights knowing damn well that you wanted to find that he’d made you another treat. Something special. Because you liked it. Because you wanted to sit outside with him at night and talk and drink until you were too fucking comfortable to want to be anywhere else. Because you know you’re in…_ ”

“The fuck I am!” Lovino shouted at the empty room, catching his wild thoughts just in time as his heart raced. Flushing at such a patently untrue, no _way in hell it could be possible_ , thought Lovino kicked at the edge of the bed, wanting to be rid of such sentimental nonsense that was veering precipitously close to _feelings_. And those just weren’t fucking acceptable. Not now. Not for this person, who was so very very dangerous.

Just as he was trying to calm his nerves, still muttering invectives at his own subconscious, there was a loud knock at the door, followed by a cooing voice, “Lovino? It’s Antonio!”

“No shit!” Lovino snarled, voice cracking embarrassingly. Frustrated, he marched over to the door, flinging it open with enough force that Antonio stumbled forward into his room, inadvertently invading his personal space.

“Are you ready to go?” Antonio said brightly, righting his balance but not moving away.

Lovino could not answer. All of his attention was arrested by how damningly good Antonio looked, tanned skin set-off by the stark white of his short-sleeve shirt, which was tighter than Lovino thought was probably appropriate for mass. The pants were also in the running for inappropriate choice of the day, much to Lovino’s distress. The bastard had left the first two buttons of the shirt un-done, revealing a broad and inviting expanse of skin and it even looked like he had taken the trouble of taming his hair for once so that it fell casually against his forehead and curled around his cheeks.

 _This is not fucking helping!_ Lovino’s mind screeched as that other little voice cheered excitedly.

“Lovino! Are you okay?! You look really flushed!” Antonio broke into his glazed reverie, taking a step closer and shaking him by the shoulders.

Shocked by Antonio’s touch and his sudden proximity, Lovino snapped out it enough to grumble while attempting to scowl convincingly, “I’m fine, goddamnit! Just thinking about how fucking ridiculous you look.”

Antonio frowned a little, but did not remove his hands much, which only caused Lovino to flush further, squirming a little in Antonio’s grasp, as he asked, “What’s wrong with how I look?”

Quickly, desperately, Lovino cast a critical eye over his appearance, attempting to find anything wrong that could deflect the attention off him and his still pounding pulse and back to where it belonged: squarely on the idiot.

 _Ah-ha!_ Lovino sighed with relief as he spotted Antonio’s requisite red scarf hanging loosely around his shoulders, offering a grateful prayer to San Pedro’s quirky sense of fashion, “Your scarf looks like shit. What kind of grown ass man doesn’t know how to tie a proper fucking knot, even if this is a piss-poor replacement for a real fucking tie!”

During his rant, he was startled to find that Antonio’s eyes had gone wide and surprised, staring at him with warm pleasure. He was about to ask what the fuck his problem was when he realized that without his express written consent, his hands had flown to Antonio’s neck, artfully arranging the scarf, fingers brushing along the skin of his collarbone. He felt the blood rush to his face but was unable to look away, even as his hands stopped moving, even as Antonio took another step closer, so close that their bodies were almost touching.

Antonio smiled at him, soft and slow, the way Lovino had once or twice allowed himself to imagine he might in the darkness of a bedroom.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Antonio murmured and Lovino could feel the vibrations in the tips of his fingers that were still lingering on his throat.

He swallowed, mouth dry, trying to respond.

Abruptly, there was a knock on the door and the gentle spell of the moment was broken as Lovino tore his hands away as though Antonio was made of poison ivy and taking several steps backwards until his knees thumped against the side of his bed. Antonio took a determined step towards him, only to be stopped by a hesitant voice saying, “Excuse me, Mr. Vargas and Mr. Fernandez, but the car is ready to take you into town, if you’re ready to go.”

As he returned to his senses, wondering what the fuck had just happened before his timely rescue, Lovino watched Antonio out of the corner of his eye, wanting to know what the bastard was going to do next. He was intrigued to see a rare flash of frustration fly across Antonio’s face as he snapped out a short response to the unwitting intruder, “Yes. Thank you. Lovino, let’s go.”

“Don’t order me around, you shit!” Lovino shouted, gratified to have found more solid footing on the familiar territory of being righteously pissed off, even as he trailed after Antonio’s back, attempting to forget that he had ever seen that smile.

 

Despite the early hour, the solemnity and familiarity of the mass given before a sea of white and red parishioners, soothed Lovino’s fraying nerves and seemed to calm Antonio’s unexpected ire.  The size of the crowd made it so they were pressed side to side in the narrow pew, legs brushing against each other every time they sat and stood for the recitations and incantations. Even though he scowled and tried to hold out his hand instead, Antonio pressed a warm kiss that lingered longer than it should have as his sign of the peace. 

By the time the mass had completed, people spilling out onto the large plaza in front of the Hermitage as the bells rang, Lovino felt good enough about life to be quite fond of San Pedro and his celebration. The gentle atmosphere of the mass faded as the assembled townspeople started to burble with excitement, a growing sense of anticipation buzzing through the air that set Lovino’s senses on high alert. He looked to Antonio for some hint as to what was going on, but the idiot was looking blithely away, still humming the last hymn under his breath.

Antonio stuck closely to his side, guiding him with one hand placed presumptuously on his hip towards a less populated area of the square, while Lovino took in the sheer amount of wine that was scattered around the area. His eyes widened, wondering just what kind of religious holiday required wine in bottles (corks already removed), wine in plastic jugs, wine in buckets, wine in thermoses, all before 9am in the morning. Lovino’s suspicions only intensified when Antonio finally stopped in front of the containers marked “Bodega Carriedo,” a sheepish, but also childishly excited expression on his face.

Lovino shrugged out of his grasp, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes, “Hey, bastard! What this fuck is this?” He waved one arm in agitation in the general direction of the milling crowd and their impressive collection of booze, “You better not have tricked me into coming to some sort of fucked up Spanish bacchanalia!”

Antonio looked pointedly away, which to Lovino was a clear sign that he was hiding something. Lovino shot him a dirty look before turning away, refusing to play the asshole’s games. _If he doesn’t want to tell me what’s going on, I’ll just find out myself!_ He watched with growing apprehension as the collected populace of Haro began pouring wine into any smaller vessel they could find or simply taking whole buckets or pitchers of frothing red wine into their hands. When the mayor of the town took to the stairs of the church the noise of the crowd grew to such a pitch of happy excitement that Lovino couldn’t hear what was being said.

As the speech finished, he spun around in frustrated anger to face Antonio, who was now smiling brightly, eyes twinkling with mischief, hands behind his back.

“Sorry, Lovino!” Antonio chuckled.

“Sorry for what?” Lovino asked warily.

“This!” Antonio shouted at the same moment the entire square erupted into victorious yells and screams, dumping an entire pitcher of wine over Lovino’s head.

 _What._

 _The._

 _Fuck._

 

For a solid moment, Lovino was too shocked to react, as wine dripped down his face and neck, staining his pristine shirt a vivid red. It was only when he was hit from behind with another enthusiastic splash of wine, which soaked his back and plastered his shirt to his skin that he managed to recover from the utter horror of being stealth-bombed with Grenache.

He took a step towards his still smiling attacker, speaking in deadly calm tones, forgoing even his usual invectives as a sign of his seriousness, “Antonio. Did you just pour wine over my head?”

Antonio nodded, apparently unaware of the mortal danger he was now in, “Yes! Today is the famous Batalla de Vino!”

Lovino took this in, _so the asshole did bring me to a bacchanalia_ , “Am I to understand that the purpose of this festival is to toss wine on each other?” He continued at Antonio’s enthused ‘yes’, ignoring the fact that yet another person had just sloshed wine on him, “And you knew this ahead of time?”

Antonio grinned, “Of course! Isn’t this a fun surprise!”

 _I am going to kill him._

Lovino gritted his teeth and clenched his hands, which were now slick with wine, skin starting to stain pink. _This called for payback, Sicilian style._ He sidled up to Antonio, catching him off guard by pressing in close while slyly reaching behind his unsuspecting back for one of the pitchers of wine.

He leaned up to breathe into Antonio’s ear, speaking softly, lulling him into a false of sense security, “So you thought this would be a fun surprise for me? To get doused in my own fucking wine? To witness the sacrilege of wine being poured anywhere but in a mouth or down a drain?”

Antonio shuddered and to Lovino’s vicious delight, his skin broke out in goosebumps and his eyes fell shut. _This asshole wasn’t going to know what hit him!_

Abruptly, Lovino pulled back, right hand now armed with wine, thrusting the contents of the pitcher into Antonio’s face with heated relish, screaming, “THIS IS A DESIGNER SHIRT, YOU STUPID FUCK!! THIS IS WAR!!!”

While Antonio spluttered and tried to wipe the wine out of his eyes, Lovino grabbed a bucket of wine straight from the arms of another villager, dumping it squarely over Antonio’s head, cackling and dancing away. 

Antonio had the gall to laugh when he should have feared for his very life, “I am glad you are getting into the spirit of things, Lovino! You got me good, but now it’s my turn!”

Lovino took one look at the collection of bottles positioned squarely behind Antonio, his own personal little arsenal, and immediately turned and fled, screaming over his shoulder, “Only if you can catch me first, asshole!”

He ran wildly through the mass of soaking villagers, who gleefully tossed wine at Lovino at every opportunity. He took it in stride, laughing as he heard Antonio calling his name with increasing frustration. For the next hour he dodged the Spaniard, out maneuvering him through the throngs of people, attempting to pilfer wine off of others to have in case of impending Antonio attack.

 

He was able to remain hidden in sea of red and white until the very last minutes of the Battle, when, supply exhausted and now in need of wine to drink, the cheery villagers started to move down from path from the church to the town square, leaving him suddenly exposed. Before he had a chance to calculate a plan for escape, Antonio managed to snag an arm around his waist, pulling them together in a sticky, wet, tangle. For a long moment, Antonio just grinned down at him in victory, while Lovino frowned and struggled against the firm hold to no avail.

“It was very mean of you to run away from me, Lovino!” Antonio smirked, tightening his grip.

“What the fuck, you bastard! You tricked me into coming to this clusterfuck and then dumped goddamned wine on my head! How the hell am I the asshole in this situation?” He fumed, still wriggling in vain.

Antonio mock pouted, eyes belying his enjoyment of the situation, “You’re having so much fun and I want to be with you when you have fun.”

“Only a dumbass like you would find this shit fun. Now let me go, before I kick the shit out of you!”

Antonio looked at him like he would have a drenched cat, hissing and spitting, but still very cute, raising his free hand above their heads. Lovino’s eyes widened and he started to struggle in earnest when he saw the flask of wine tipping dangerously over him. Antonio leaned down, letting a few drops spill onto to Lovino’s cheek, murmuring, “I think I have to punish you for running away.”

“Fuck that!” Lovino shouted as he kicked Antonio in the shin sharply. His captor promptly released him, yelping and hobbling away.

“That wasn’t very nice!” Antonio protested, rubbing his abused shin.

Lovino started backing down the hill, a satisfied smirk firmly in place, “I warned you, asshole!”

“Aww, don’t run away again!” Antonio tried to follow after him, but Lovino was already hurrying down the hill, generously leaving Antonio with a middle finger as a parting gift.

 

Two hours later, Lovino was still smirking over his victory, celebrating by sitting on a stone table near the center of El Haro, surrounded by pretty senoritas, all of whom wanted to hear his charming stories and kept passing him little glasses of some mysterious yellow liquor. At first he’d struggled to swallow the beverage without grimacing, not wanting to show any rudeness in the face of such beautiful generosity. But now, Lovino thought it tasted amazing, as delicious as the experience of throwing wine in Antonio’s face. Hazily, he wondered where Antonio was, what he was doing, why he wasn’t with him, but then one of the lovely ladies started loosening his tie and giving him another little glass and the thought faded away. 

Four hours later, as the sun began to dip lower and the heat tempered, Lovino watched as his harem floated away from him, giggling and bidding him adieu in shaky Italian, going off to dance in the square. Lovino sighed dramatically and blew them endless kisses before flopping boneless on the table top, wondering when Antonio was finally going to come and find him. He hummed a little to the music, off-key and off-beat, running his tie through his fingers, closing his eyes against the intoxicated swirling of his blood.

Out of the morass of mystery alcohol, the image of Antonio’s secret smile from that morning in his room floated through his mind, the word ‘sweetheart’ echoed in his ears. He indulged in the drunken daydream until he felt his arm being jostled by some idiot who clearly couldn’t see that this table was taken. He opened his eyes to find Antonio’s amused green eyes peering into his, as he leaned over Lovino’s sprawled body.

“Hello, bastard,” Lovino said, horrified to find that he had lost control of his muscles and there was doubtless now a happy smile plastered on his face.

Antonio laughed and pushed Lovino’s sticky hair off of his forehead as Lovino tried to swat at him ineffectually, missing wildly with each swing. Antonio whispered conspiratorially, “You’re smiling at me. I think you must be drunk, sweetling.”

Lovino frowned, knowing there was something wrong with that sentence, “The fuck I am! I never get drunk off of wine. You’re just jealous that pretty senoritas gave me fun yellow drinks and not you! Ha!”

“Of course I am jealous that someone else got all your time today, but I don’t think those ladies were giving you wine. I think you were tricked by some very naughty vixens into drinking a lot of orujo.” Antonio said as he stretched out next to Lovino, propping himself up on one elbow.

Shocked and betrayed, Lovino struggled to turn on his side as well, squinting at Antonio in an attempt to see just one of him, “That can’t be fucking possible! They said it was special wine for today! That as an honored guest from Italy I had to try it! I trusted them…I always trust pretty women!”

He looked despondently at Antonio, who was still smiling for some reason and fiddling with his tie, ( _didn’t he realize the gravity of this fucking situation)_ and who had the nerve to say, “Don’t be sad. You can always trust me, Lovino!”

Unable to hold back, tongue loosened by the machinations of wicked women, Lovino snorted in disbelief, “The fuck I can! You’re the worst. I trust you less than I trust that fucking potato-eater around a sausage!”

Antonio was suddenly looming over him again, his two faces looking very serious from what Lovino could tell, “What do you mean? When have I ever given you reason not to trust me?”

Lovino had to think about it for a moment, pushing through waves of sleepiness and the nascent throbbing of his head, before he remembered why it was he didn’t trust this pretty senor who was currently very close to his face.

What he didn’t remember was that he never talked about it, so it came as a great surprise to Antonio when Lovino opened his mouth and revealed the big secret of the past seven years, drunkenly confessing, “You shit. Like you don’t know what you did! You asked me to come say goodbye to you, said you fucking wanted me there more than anyone else, and when I show up, you’re surrounded by your goddamned admirers, laughing and being happy. Such a fucking liar. Jerk!”

Antonio’s eyes went so comically wide that Lovino worried they might fall out, as he spoke in a shocked tone, “You came that day?”

Lovino smirked, pleased to have pulled out yet another stunning victory over Antonio, who was obviously reeling from the proof of what a deceitful bastard he was. “Yup.”

Antonio seemed to go a little frantic, leaning down so close that Lovino thought he could count his eyelashes, but lost track after three, while Antonio said in rapid-fire, “But I never saw you! I waited until the last moment to get on that plane! I sent you a thousand messages. But you never answered.”

Lovino rolled his eyes, pushing the bastard’s face out of his because, really, Antonio was being very stupid, “Obviously I left, moron. You didn’t fucking need me there.”

He heard Antonio’s long sigh, followed by a long pause, before he felt fingers start carding through his hair again, “Of course I did. I didn’t know all of those people were going to be there. It was a surprise. I wanted it to be just you and me. I wish you had stayed.”

Feeling lazy and content like a cat in the sunshine, leaning into get more of this hypnotic touch, Lovino closed his eyes as another memory, long kept locked away, bubbled out of his mouth, “You fucking should. I was going to let you kiss me.”

The hands in his hair tightened painfully, “You wanted me to kiss you?”

Lovino hmmmed in response, the sea of sleepy intoxication threatening to pull him under. He felt Antonio settle in closer to him, trying to gently shake him back awake with the hand not currently doing wonderful things in his hair.

A warm voice was whispering in his ear, “Do you want me to kiss you now?” 

He liked the way the voice seemed to melt down his entire body, so Lovino thought about it as his mind started to drift towards unconsciousness, not sure why anymore  it would be a bad idea to say yes. Again he conjured the memory of that slow, soft smile, feeling how his heart fluttered even now, deep in the thrall of alcohol and exhaustion. _Yes, yes_ , that irritating voice insisted _, I want to feel that smile pressed against my lips_.

It was such a pleasant dream, this dream he was having of Antonio next to him on a bed that was very hard for some reason, asking to kiss him, looking at him with those eyes and stroking his hair like he was precious, that Lovino almost forgot there was something he had to do, that there was something he needed to say before he could go into the dream completely.

 _Oh…right…someone is waiting for me…_

“Yes,” he murmured, before turning his body entirely towards the comforting warmth next to him and falling into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haro_Wine_Festival


	7. Chapter 5

Something was pounding. Something in addition to the violent ebb and flow throbbing of his head. Lovino attempted to open stave off returning to consciousness, already aware of his body’s screaming protestations, the roiling of his stomach, and the fact that his mouth tasted like dry dirt coated in rotten fruit. It was without doubt, a hangover of epic proportions, just waiting to make its presence fully known. He screwed his eyes shut and attempted to will himself back to sleep, but the pounding, the godforsaken pounding, would not stop.

Irritated beyond imagining, but willing to do anything to make it go away, Lovino lifted up enough from his pillow to shout (an action he immediately regretted), “What the fuck?!” Naturally, the pounding stopped and the door opened, revealing an Antonio that seemed even more dippy and happy than usual. The sight of his wide, blissful smile sent Lovino’s annoyance into an even deeper tailspin. He rolled over, blessedly removing this offensive display from his field of vision.

Of course, the bastard had to open his mouth, “Lovino! I wanted to see if you were feeling ok! You’ve been sleeping for hours!”

Lovino snorted, burying down deeper into the covers, “What the fuck do you think, moron? Do I look like I feel ok?”

Apparently Antonio construed this as a warm welcome and made his way over to perch on the side of Lovino’s bed, placing a comforting hand on the one shoulder that wasn’t buried under the covers.

Startled, Lovino turned to face him, cracking open one bloodshot eye, “What the hell are you doing? And why the fuck aren’t you hung-over?” He paused, opening both eyes and recoiling when he saw the openly affectionate glow of Antonio’s expression, the warmth in his eyes, spluttering, “What the fuck are you so happy about?!”

Antonio laughed, continuing to stroke his shoulder, as Lovino was unable to convince his body to move away, “Why wouldn’t I be happy? It was a very good festival after all.”

Lovino glared, feeling as though he was missing something, “What was so great about it? From what I remember, that shit festival was a fucking waste of time.”

Antonio’s grin fell slightly, “What you remember?”

“Yeah, you ruined my goddamned shirt, I kicked you in the shins, and then I had wine with pretty ladies. Which made me hung-over… Wait, why the fuck _am_ I so hung-over?”

Lovino was bemused to notice that Antonio was starting to take on a pale hue, the sparkle fading from his obnoxiously happy eyes, “That’s all you remember?”

Lovino stiffened, immediately suspicious, “Should I be remembering something else?”

Antonio sighed and then leaned in very close, catching Lovino off-guard as he searched his face, looking for something. Lovino held his breath, feeling his heart quicken, his eyes almost closing involuntarily, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Suddenly Antonio pulled away, leaving Lovino with a strange sense of disappointment, “No, no…just that those senoritas weren’t giving you wine. It was orujo.”

“Fuck! No wonder I feel like shit!” Lovino exclaimed, flopping back down on to the pillow, before a devastating realization hit him, “Wait. You mean I was betrayed by beautiful women? How can that be?”

Antonio looked a little wistful, causing Lovino’s niggling sense that he was missing something crucial to grow. He stood up from the bed and walked towards the door, seemingly weighed down. Lovino squashed the urge to ask what was wrong, what the fuck was going on.

Antonio turned back as he was leaving, a poor excuse for his regular smile in place, “Sorry, Lovino. I need to go make a few phone calls, but if you feel better later, come down and I’ll make you something to eat, ok?”

For a long moment, Lovino just looked at him, trying to understand what the hell had just transpired in the past five minutes, too confused and nauseated to do anything but nod in agreement. 

Feeling somehow worse than he had when Antonio first walked in, with a new unexplained aching in his chest, and creeping sensation that something was different whispering in mind, Lovino laid back down, determined to sleep until shit made sense.

 

Several hours later, he woke once again, feeling less like throwing up on the carpet and more determined to ignore whatever it was that was making his nerves twitch. After a shower in which the water ran a sickening shade of red, the smell of dried cheap wine causing his stomach to turn and tumble, Lovino managed to slide on jeans and t-shirt, slowly making his way towards the kitchen, giving himself permission to take advantage of Antonio’s offer of food just one more time.

As he walked down the stairs, he was surprised to hear Antonio’s voice, speaking in accented French, floating through the air. He paused at the landing, straining his ears to listen in on this conversation that was causing Antonio’s tone to fluctuate so wildly, even though he could only catch the odd word or phrase, and once his name, said with urgency.  Lovino wondered what the hell he was talking about.

 _And who exactly he was talking to with such fervor_.

Shaking his head in disgust, Lovino pushed open the door to the kitchen, frowning sourly as Antonio jumped, clearly startled. He was stupidly pleased that Antonio promptly hung up the phone, giving him his complete attention.

And Lovino quickly came to regret that thought when he saw that the warm and open affection from earlier was back in Antonio’s eyes. He warily backed into a chair. Antonio smiled at him as he handed over a plate of food, which Lovino absently noted was very good, mind too distracted by the fact that Antonio had deliberately brushed his fingers through his hair as he walked towards his own chair.

His agitation grew as Antonio sat across from him, watching him through the dim light of the kitchen with a new intensity in his gaze; a gaze that seemed confident and assured, burning with something low and hot, as if fueled by some heretofore unknown discovery.

Lovino’s discomfort grew as his arousal spiked, pulse humming with anticipation, as if calling out in response to Antonio’s heated stare. He tried to tamp it down, looking away and shoveling food into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed more quickly than he ever had in his life, wanting to get away from Antonio, from this unsettling feeling of attraction and confused powerlessness. Fork clattering to the plate and breaking the thick silence, Lovino shoved his plate across the table, jumping up in shock when Antonio attempted to reach for his now  free hand.

“Lovino,” Antonio murmured in that stupid, devastating bedroom voice. Lovino fled to the safety of the other side of the room, looking out the window at the night sky as his hands clenched the sill, trying to regain some semblance of control, wondering what the hell had changed in the past 8 hours. He heard Antonio’s chair scrape backwards and closed his eyes against the racing of his heart as the man approached ever closer, closer, until he was crowded up against his back, warm and delicious, arms on either side of him. His eyes flew open when Antonio’s chin came to rest on his shoulder, humming contentedly.

Lovino stilled, trying to summon his usual scathing response, to push away, to run back to the protection of his bedroom. He stared blankly out the window, willing his mind to come up with something other than _yes, yes, yes_ , until he was struck by another realization almost as upsetting as the conclusion that he couldn’t bring himself to leave Antonio’s embrace.

There were dark, ominous clouds covering the sky, a harbinger of summer rain.

“Fuck. This is bad.” He grumbled, unthinkingly. Immediately, Antonio withdrew, his warmth instantly missed, but Lovino did not allow for much time to grieve its departure, already consumed with anxious worry.  His mind now doubly troubled by Antonio’s bold behavior and the imminent threat of unexpected, unwanted rain, Lovino’s protective instincts finally kicked back in, subsuming his desire, and allowing his legs to start running away.

He charged blindly up the stairs, slamming and locking to the door to his bedroom, sliding down to the ground and holding his head in his hands, wondering when he had lost control. Wondering if he had ever had it…wanting to know what the hell was going to happen next. And what the fuck he was supposed to do about it.


	8. Chapter 6

What happened over the next week was enough to drive Lovino to anxious, fractious, distraction. The skies remained gray and intimidating, the weathermen issuing increasingly ominous predictions of unexpected summer downpours to come. Everyday Lovino paced nervously up and down the rows of grape vines, sweating in the oppressive humidity, trying to think of anything but what would happen should shattering occur now, just when the temperamental Grenache was as it is most critical stage of growth. Without the Grenache yield, there could be no chance of a perfectly blended Gran Reserva Rioja.

Feeling as though his goal might slip down the drain with the rain, Lovino fretted endlessly, raging impotently against the weather, feeling the old doubts and insecurities creep back in, the dormant fear of being a disappointment rearing its ugly head. Against his better judgment he even gave credence to the little voice that worried over what Antonio might say should he fail to perform the one task he was brought to the Bodega to do: to create something masterful, something of which they could both be proud.

Antonio it seemed, however, had far more important things to concern himself with rather than worrying about the potential failure of this year’s vintage. No, it seemed that he had appointed himself the job of driving Lovino absolutely crazy. Ever since the festival, the man had watched him those same intense eyes, still burning with some unnamed need, the set of his jaw determined and confident.  And when he spoke, he no longer approached Lovino with cheerful hesitance. Now when Antonio said _“You look so good today!”_ or _“Come have dinner with me tonight,_ ” it was with the tone of a man who knew what he wanted and was assured that one day he would get it, if he just waited for the right moment.

And then there was the touching. The constant brushing of fingers and reaching of hands and flash-quick caresses that kept Lovino riding the edge of desire and frustration as he sat in bed at night attempting to recount each moment of contact. _Antonio tracing his fingers along his palm as he passed the salt at dinner; Antonio leaning close as they signed paperwork; Antonio dragging his fingers through his hair late one night as he’d had his head tipped back in worried exhaustion, murmuring sweetheart as he passed, conjuring wisps of a broken memory_.

It was a slow form of torturous seduction.

And it was working. No matter how hard he tried to resist, Lovino wanted to touch back.

And as the week wore on and the weather grew worse and as he was inundated by thoughts and dreams of _Antonio, Antonio, Antonio_ , Lovino was not in the frame of mind to receive an email from home. His mood instantly darkened when he scrolled through his inbox to the message from one L. Beilschmidt; a message which informed him that his grandfather required his presence back at the Tenuta in five days in order to discuss future Vargas strategy.  He loathed the thought of going back now, just as the rain threatened to put an end to all of his grandiose hopes of a victory to throw in his grandfather’s face. But now as he watched the first drops of rain fall to the ground, the skies finally opening to splatter against the window, all could he hear was the echo of his grandfather’s taunting doubt rattling in his harried mind.

He threw the Blackberry down in disgust, cursing as the rain began to fall harder, exacerbating his frustration nearly to the point of breaking. He paced anxiously about the room, pulling his hands through his hair, at a total loss.    




“Fuck this!” He shouted at the empty room, sliding on his shoes and grabbing a jacket, storming down the stairs and quickly blowing past Antonio, uninterested in partaking of the next act of his passion play. Ignoring the driving rain, he ran out into the fields, propelled forward by his anger. He stopped in the midst of the old, gnarled, Tempranillo vines, panting as he watched the water sluice down the leaves, turning the soil from dust to mud. He stared out across the fields, despondent and helpless against the downpour, feeling as though he was watching the slow demise of his dream.

Lovino nearly shrieked in shock when arms suddenly embraced him from behind, pulling him against a broad chest, still heaving from exertion. He stilled when Antonio held him tighter, as he bent over, drops of water to falling from his soaked hair into the open collar of Lovino’s shirt. Antonio spoke, voice low and comforting, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Everything will be ok.”

Lovino’s temper broke free of its very tenuous bonds, uninteresting in hearing such blasé platitudes, as he shoved Antonio away with such force that the man skidded in the mud, almost losing his footing.

Released from unwanted comforted, Lovino shouted, giving free reign to his frustrated, impotent, anger, “What the fuck are you talking about? You of all people should know what rain in the summer means. I know you damn well know that this means it could all be over for this season, that I won’t be able to do what I goddamned came here to do!” He waved his arms wildly, pointing at the sky and vines, trying to drive the point home.

He backed away as Antonio took a step towards him with a kind look on his face, hand outstretched,  voice soothing, “Even if that happens, it will still be ok.”

Too infuriated to stop himself, Lovino let the words tumble out of his mouth without thought, “That’s bullshit! Don’t you fucking care? You know what, fuck you! Go back inside and smile pretty for the goddamned tourists. I’ll stay out here and try to make something out of this shit winery!”

He regretted it the moment he stopped speaking, instantly wanting to take away the hurt surprise in Antonio’s eyes, to end this pregnant silence by taking it all back, to say that he never meant it, would never mean it.

Instead he stared at the ground, swallowing down his guilt and his lingering anger, trying to find words of apology that would not come. He cast a desperate, wide eyed look at Antonio and then turned and ran, too ashamed to hold his ground any longer.

 

He took refuge in the dark, quiet solace of the cellar caves, wandering aimlessly up and down the tunnels, shivering in his wet clothes. Now that his bubble of frustration had burst, all Lovino felt was lost and sorry. He wracked his brain for how to apologize, to make the situation right again. He stopped in front of a well tended rack of wine with no dust on the bottles, a rare sight in a winery of this size and age. The label revealed that it was the 2002 Bodega Carriedo Rioja Gran Reserva, the last vintage that Antonio’s mother had made before her illness.

He picked up the bottle with great care, offering a prayer to the memory of the vintner, gently peeling back the foil. He fumbled in his pocket for the wine-key, popping the cork with practiced precision, taken aback by the powerful aroma of earth and deep red berries. This was without doubt a masterful wine, a beautiful wine, a wine that he hoped to live up to one day.

Slowly, treasure in hand, he wound his way back to the front of the cellar, picking up a discarded glass from one of his many afternoon tasting sessions, pouring himself a healthy amount. Lovino leaned against the stone wall, holding the glass overhead, appreciating the dark, rich vibrancy of the garnet color, the way it moved and changed in the dim light. He swirled the wine, watching the thick legs paint the sides of the glass, the scent once again overtaking his senses, banishing his anxiety. He closed his eyes and drank deeply, letting the bold tannins and flavors of oak, black cherries, and spice wash shock his senses out of worry.

“Is it good?” A voice called out from the cellar stairs. Lovino’s heart rate quickened as he opened his eyes to see Antonio silhouetted at the top the steps, soaking wet and holding two towels in his hand.

Lovino turned his head, raising apologetic eyes to meet Antonio’s, speaking softly, but surely, “Yes, it’s good. I’ve always thought so.”

Without breaking eye contact, Antonio moved quickly down the stairs, leaving wet footprints with each step, coming to Lovino’s side, holding out one of the towels.

He smiled, a little, replying warmly, “I’m very glad.”

Lovino took the towel in a daze, wondering at how easily he had been forgiven, how Antonio never seemed to have any sense of self-preservation, why he always seemed to let Lovino off the hook, no matter what. _What the fuck was wrong with him?!_

Confused and drained from the week’s emotion rollercoaster, Lovino looked at him, eyes begging for an explanation, “What the hell is wrong with you? Why the hell do you keep coming after me?”

To his surprise Antonio laughed, low and intimate, before shuffling in so close that Lovino was backed straight up against the wall, pinning him in place with the intensity of his gaze and that slow, soft smile that felt like a promise. Lovino dropped the towel to the ground, unused and unheeded, as Antonio laced their hands together, running his thumb across his knuckles, pressing close, so close, that Lovino could feel the matching pounding of Antonio’s heart through the touching of their chests.

He closed his eyes as Antonio murmured, voice low and bedroom sweet, “Don’t you know?”

 _Fuck._

Arousal spiraling out of control, Lovino made one last ditch effort to appear unaffected, raising his glass to his lips with a shaking hand, cursing as the wine spilled over the rim, tracing little red paths down his fingers. His breath caught in his throat as Antonio took the glass, setting it aside. His eyes widened, transfixed as Antonio raised his hand to his lips, tongue darting out to catch the wine that raced down his skin, lips moving sensuously between the v of his fingers, sliding up, up, until he sucked the tips between into his mouth, humming happily.

 _Double fuck_.

Hand now clean, Lovino watched as Antonio placed it over his heart, leaning in so that they were only millimeters apart, feeling the shallow pants of Antonio’s breathing on his lips. Antonio stopped, waiting, as if asking for permission. Lovino let his eyelids flutter shut, trying to think beyond the thrumming of the blood in his ears, the racing desire in his veins.

 _I give up_.

And so he let the last vestiges of his hesitation fall away, letting them melt in the wake of this passion, giving into the unyielding yearning of his heart. He pushed forward ever so slightly, letting his lips brush Antonio’s once, twice, three times in love’s first kiss.

Lovino pulled back, hand still pressed over Antonio’s rapidly beating heart, watching as his eyes opened slowly, a smile crossing his face that was so happy and true it was painful to look at. Unable to bear witness to such intensity of feeling, Lovino fisted his hand in Antonio’s shirt, melding the entire length of his body to his, kissing him hard and deep, tasting the tang of tempranillo on his tongue. Antonio moaned into his mouth and shoved him against the wall, giving as good as he got, sucking and biting his lips, hands roaming everywhere and nowhere in particular, as if trying to get a feel for as much as he could before Lovino came to his senses and pushed him away.

Not that there was any chance of that happening from the moment Lovino’s head failed to connect with the sharp stone wall, instead falling back onto Antonio’s waiting arm.

“Always the fucking gentleman,” Lovino hissed in his ear while attempting to get his hands under Antonio’s wet shirt, wanting to feel his skin, nipping at his neck and reveling in the feel of his shivers as he finally was able to rake his nails over Antonio’s nipples.

“Always, for you,” Antonio said, winking and making Lovino roll his eyes and blush.

Then Antonio was rocking his hips in the most delicious way, and once again the situation was quickly burning out of control, as they kissed, wet and dirty, the sounds of moaning echoing off the walls, adding fuel to their fires. Lovino pulled away to breathe, throwing his arms around Antonio’s neck while other man sucked and licked his way from jaw to collarbone and back again, whispering idiotic sentimental nonsense as his hand drifted lower and lower.

 _“Mi cielo,”_ and the buttons of Lovino’s shirt came undone, an as eager and hot mouth followed the path first trail-blazed by intrepid fingers.

 _“Tesoro,”_ and there was a hand pressing to the front of his jeans as Lovino cursed and pushed his hips wantonly into the hand.

 _“Sweetheart,”_ and the hand was inside his pants, cold fingers against his heat, a delicious torment as Antonio kissed him breathless, teasing touches that compelled Lovino to seek his own revenge, working his hand into Antonio’s pants, while he sighed, “ _Bastard.”_

Antonio was hot and hard, panting into his shoulder as they rocked together, wet clothes clinging to their skin, restricting their movements enough to leave Lovino teetering on the edge of satisfaction and frustration.

He pulled his hand away, ignoring Antonio’s pouting whine, speaking breathlessly, “If you’re such a goddamned gentleman, at least take me to bed the first time.”

Antonio stopped, a look of disbelief on his face, his reply rushed and hurried, “Really?”

Lovino rolled his eyes again, only managing to answer, “Yes, really,” before he was being pulled out of the room with enthusiasm, nearly dragged up the stairs and out into the still driving rain.

Hand in hand they rushed across the courtyard, Antonio laughing like only an idiot in the rain could while Lovino cursed and tried to keep up.  They stumbled into the closest bedroom, kicking off their shoes, before Lovino swung Antonio around to slam against the closed door, giving him a taste of being up against the wall, kissing him slow and long, running his fingers through his wet hair and down his face, pressing his thumbs under his jaw, sighing into the kiss.

When he felt the slight quiver in Antonio’s knees, Lovino knew his work here was done, breaking away and leaving the man wanting as he strolled away, attempting to keep his hands from shaking as he shed his shirt, letting it drop casually to the floor. He kept his back to Antonio, facing the vast expanse of the bed, as he slowly lowered the zip to his pants, enjoying the hitch in Antonio’s breathing as the sound echoed in the room. Down, down came the pants, kicked off to the side and as he started to reach for the elastic band of his underwear, Lovino felt a strong hand grasp his wrist, another arm wrapping around his waist, pushing him back to grind against a hard cock.

“Those are for me to take off, querido,” Antonio purred, running his fingers teasingly along the band and then down over his dick.

Lovino shivered, rubbing himself against Antonio, “Then get the fuck on with it already.”

Antonio bit his neck, murmuring, “If you say so,” before twisting Lovino around and shoving him down on to the bed, reaching down to pull off his underwear before Lovino could form a coherent thought.

“So you can be efficient when you want to…” Lovino teased, watching as Antonio stripped off his own clothes, revealing a body that surpassed the fleeting fantasies he’d indulged in during lonely moments in the shower. Suddenly nervous, he scooted back, trying to reach for a pillow for cover, only to have it ripped away and thrown across the room as Antonio loomed over him, green eyes alight with desire, as he dipped to kiss Lovino. Lovino ached into the delicious feeling of skin pressed on skin, his eyes to fluttering shut as a sigh escaped his lips.

“So lovely,” Antonio cooed before kissing him once again, pushing his hands over his head and lacing their fingers together. Lovino spread his legs, letting Antonio fall between them, biting down on Antonio’s lip in pleasure as their cocks rubbed together.

Antonio freed one of his hands from Lovino’s, running his hand from shoulder to hip to knee and then back up, taking them both in hand, attempting to find a good rhythm until Lovino couldn’t stand riding the edge of desire any longer, letting his own hand drift down to take Antonio’s and push it further between his legs, whispering, “Fuck me.”

Antonio stilled and Lovino panicked wondering what the hell was wrong, “What? What the fuck is the problem?”

Antonio lifted his head from his shoulder, kissing his ear, murmuring, “Nothing, nothing at all. Just trying not to come.”

Relieved, Lovino laughed, kissing Antonio’s shoulder in return, “Loser.” He nodded his head towards the bedside table, “It’s in there.”

He stroked himself as Antonio reached for the lube, absently running his foot along Antonio’s calf, already fantasizing about the things they could do together, do to each other. Antonio settled between back his knees, with hooded eyes and a dirty smile as he watched Lovino touch himself while he in turn slicked up his cock. He lifted Lovino’s legs onto his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him so gently and sweetly that it belied the intensity of what was about to happen, as he pushed inside slowly, slowly, rocking softly until he was completely inside.

Lovino tangled his hands in Antonio’s hair, moaning into their kiss, pushing his hips and urging Antonio onwards. Antonio pushed in and out deliberately, maintaining a steady and careful pace, kissing Lovino all the while.

Lovino broke the kiss, grabbing Antonio’s jaw in his hand, enjoying sight of his determined look of concentration fighting with his obvious desire to go slack and uncontrolled with passion.

“Hey. You know I’m not some delicate fucking flower, right?”

“I know. But you are precious to me.”

Impossibly, considering that he thought all his blood had flown south, Lovino flushed, Antonio’s words rushing through his ears. He kissed him on the cheek as a thank you, chaste, considering they were mid-fuck, and then slammed his hips down hard and pulled Antonio’s hair, growling, “Enough with the sappy sex. Fucking do it already.”

Ten minutes of back-bending, headboard banging, bruising, sweaty, best-sex-of-one’s-life later, Lovino was sprawled on across the bed, panting in self-satisfaction next to an Antonio who looked like he had won the lottery and couldn’t believe his incredible luck. Feeling the afterglow starting to mellow into the deep desire for sleep, Lovino shuffled under the covers, too lazy to consider showering, though he filed away the plan to shower with Antonio for another day. He heard the rustling of sheets as Antonio scrambled under the covers, pressing in close to his side, sharing much wanted warmth.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Antonio pleaded, running his hands over Lovino’s chest and arms.

“Why the hell not?” He mumbled in response, leaning into the touch.

“Because I don't want tonight to be over,” Antonio whispered, which Lovino thought made no sense, because it wasn’t like he was about to get out of his own goddamned bed after a great fuck like that.

He grabbed Antonio’s still wandering hand, bringing it to his lips and giving his fingers a sleepy kiss, “Don’t be an idiot. I’ll still be here in the morning. And you can make up all the shit you owe me in the morning.  I'll  be generous and let you choose, blow job or hand job.”

Antonio laughed a little and settled his head on Lovino’s shoulder, curling his body around his side, “Promise?”

Lovino smiled a little, despite himself, falling asleep still holding Antonio’s hand, “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.winepros.org/wine101/vincyc-shatter.htm (Shattering)


	9. Interlude: Morning Glory

  
Yawning comfortably, Lovino slowly opened his eyes, taking in the pale gray morning light, to find that during the night he had switched positions with Antonio, who was now flat on his back, mouth open and breathing steadily, cradling Lovino’s head in the crook of his arm. Flushing warmly as he recalled all that had transpired only hours before, Lovino pressed in closer, stretching the length of his body against Antonio’s, kissing his still bare chest before shifting ever so slowly away, trying to escape from the bed without waking him. 

Lovino had only managed to move six inches before Antonio’s grip tightened as he murmured some sleep addled nonsense that sounded like, “Don’t go.” Amused, Lovino brushed his lips across the shell of his’s ear, whispering, “Go back to sleep, idiot. I gotta piss.” 

Apparently reassured, Antonio’s arm flopped from his shoulders, freeing Lovino to slide out from under the covers, the cool morning air chilling his naked skin. He tried to stumble across the bedroom floor as quickly as possible, eager to return to the comfort of the bed, only to stub his foot on the Blackberry he’d thrown in his anger the day before. Cursing, he picked up the offending object and hobbled into the bathroom, closing the door and flicking on the light. 

Blinking in the harsh glare of the light as he took care of business, he eyed his toothbrush, and deciding that the likelihood of morning sex was fairly high, popped it in his mouth. While he brushed, he absently scrolled through his missed calls and messages, only to regret having done so when he realized they were all from the potato-eater, containing details for the impending meeting at the Vargas Estates. He scowled in displeasure and tossed the phone on the vanity in disgust.

His mood further darkened when he made his way back across the room, stopping in front of the large window to watch the rain that continued to fall unabated, spelling trouble with every centimeter of accumulation. He stood, staring, worrying his bottom lip feeling the twin anxieties of work past and present crashing back in.  _All of the dread of yesterday, the loathsome thought of having to face Rome with only a potential disaster on his hands, the powerlessness, the disappointment…_

“Come back to bed, Lovino,” Antonio’s sleep roughened voice interrupted his growing despair. He turned from the window to see Antonio sitting up, holding out one hand in invitation, covers already pulled back to welcome his return. Flushing, Lovino looked away, shuffling back to bed and falling on his pillow with a sigh.

Antonio immediately sheltered him with both the blankets and his body, tossing a leg over his torso, hooking his ankle around as if to anchor him in place, his generous warmth already soothing the ache in Lovino’s heart.. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Antonio asked, propped up on one hand, peering into Lovino’s face, eyes concerned. 

Lovino closed his eyes, muttering, “Like you can’t fucking guess. It’s still raining.” 

Antonio kissed his forehead, “Well, since we can’t do anything but ask God to stop it, we’ll just have to stay in bed all day.” 

Lovino blushed and swatted at Antonio’s chest, leaning in closer, “Moron. Like that’s gonna help.”

“Hmm, maybe not. But it will be fun!” Antonio laughed as his other hand started tracing little teasing circles on Lovino’s hips, “What else is bothering you? Tell me.” 

Lovino thought about it for a long moment, trying to ignore his stirrings of arousal, wondering how much to share with Antonio, how much to explain to him about Vargas dysfunction—would Antonio understand? Or would he think Lovino weak? He opened his eyes, caught off-guard for the thousandth time in his life by Antonio’s ability to look so damned earnest and affectionate all the fucking time. What was he to do in the face of such open desire and devotion?

“I’ve gotta go back to Italy for a few days to deal with my fucking grandfather. He claims he wants to discuss the future of the Vargas holdings…” Lovino paused, his throat catching at the thought of his long-missed Villa Solare, “And I don’t know what the hell is going to happen. I just know I don’t want to see his fucking face or hear his goddamned ‘I told you so.’ Asshole.” He looked away, anxious in his vulnerability, unwilling to look at Antonio and see contempt or pity.

He was startled, then, when Antonio gathered him up into his arms, meeting his eyes with a determined gaze, firmly declaring, “I’ll go with you.”

Lovino’s heart thumped loudly, as the ever-doubting voice in his mind whispered, “Why? Why would you do even that for me?” 

Which was quite different from the “What the fuck for?” that he mumbled out loud. Antonio held him tighter, chastising him softly, “To be there for you, of course. If you’ll let me.” 

Really, what was he to do in the face of such open desire and devotion but surrender?

“Idiot,” Lovino sighed affectionately, carding his hands through Antonio’s tangled hair, “if you wanna waste your time like that, I’m not going to stop you.” 

Antonio smiled at him like he’d just said something amazing, “Thank you, Lovino!” Lovino clung close, burying his face in Antonio’s shoulder, not wanting his face to give away his obvious relief and happiness.

Then, Antonio’s smile changed, shifting into a sly smirk, his voice going low and deep, “And now, I want you to think only of me.” 

Lovino’s pulse started racing south, suddenly deeply turned on, as he settled on to the pillow, favoring Antonio with his own heated stare, breathing out, “Make me.” 

“Oh, I will,” Antonio murmured before kissing him, sweeping his tongue across his lips, and running his hand up his thigh, taking his already hardening cock in hand. Lovino arched into the touch, already feeling his earlier worries slip away, rushing out of his mind with the wave of desire that rolled through his body as Antonio gripped him tighter. 

“Not the rain,” Antonio whispered as he kissed a trail down Lovino’s neck, sucking at the tender spot under his jaw, stroking him faster. He pushed back the covers to bite at Lovino’s collarbone, licking the curves and definitions of his chest, sliding lower and lower to dip his tongue into the hollow of his bellybutton. 

Lovino was panting, legs spread and knees bent, watching Antonio’s progress through slitted eyes, urging him on with the hand tangled in his hair. 

“Not your family,” Antonio commanded as he traced the ridges of Lovino’s hip bones with his tongue, his fingers sliding teasingly behind his cock to brush against his balls and tipping towards his asshole, causing Lovino to gasp, control starting to fray. 

Antonio looked up, piercing Lovino with the intensity of his gaze, sighing, “Just me,” before he took Lovino into his mouth, parting his pretty red lips over the head and moaning.

“Holy fucking shit!” Lovino cursed in pleasure as his back snapped off the bed, wanting to push wantonly into Antonio’s humming mouth. Antonio pressed him down with a steady hand on his hip, continuing to slide his lips and tongue up and down, while he slipped one finger and then two inside.

Lovino closed his eyes against the onslaught, throwing an arm over his head, wanting to beg and plead, letting himself be taken over by the sensation. Wet, hot, heat that set his nerves ablaze, the growing tingling at the base of his spine, telling him that climax was near. Trembling, he raised up from the pillow, desire spiking out of control at the sight of Antonio’s head between his legs as he ran his fingers down Antonio’s cheek, before falling back to the pillow and coming, long and shattering, spilling down Antonio’s throat. 

“Jesus fuck,” Lovino moaned as he tried to get his breathing under control, feeling Antonio kiss his way back up his body before sealing his lips over Lovino’s in a heady kiss. Absently, Lovino felt Antonio’s hardness against his leg, reaching down a hand to run his still shaking fingers over his length. Without breaking their kiss, Antonio’s hand joined his and together they stroked hard and fast, until Antonio groaned, head falling to Lovino’s shoulder as he came, coating their joined hands. 

Lovino cracked open an eye, taking in Antonio’s flushed face and mussed hair, “That was really fucking hot...and distracting,” he admitted begrudgingly. 

“Mmhmm,” Antonio sighed in agreement, nuzzling into Lovino’s throat happily, “Anything for you!”

Still riding high, satiated confidence thrumming in his veins, Lovino pushed Antonio onto his back, kissing him deeply, before demanding, “In that case, make me some goddamned breakfast. All this fucking has made me hungry.” 

Antonio laughed and smiled, pushing the hair back from Lovino’s forehead as they just gazed at each other, digustingly happy in the morning light, “I’ll cook for my precious Lovino anytime. What would you like? Name it.”

Lovino considered as Antonio pressed small kisses to his cheek, his neck, and shoulders, making it difficult to think. And then he remembered…other mornings, a long time ago, mornings with more clothes and less sex, but mornings of secret happiness nonetheless.

“Make me one of those omelets, like you used to.” 

Antonio stilled, and then smiled, soft and low, the smile Lovino was beginning to want to keep for himself for the rest of his life, murmuring, “Such a romantic, Lovino. I never knew.” 

Embarrassed but pleased, Lovino shoved Antonio away, hiding his flaming face in his pillow, muttering as he continued to kick at Antonio’s still clinging body, “Yeah, yeah. Just go make me my fucking food.” 

Antonio leaned over and kissed his ear, “For you, I will do anything. Just don’t get up. You’ll have breakfast in bed and then be made love to all day.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you sappy bastard,” Lovino mumbled, hiding his smile in his pillow, treasuring the warmth that was flooding his heart.


	10. Chapter 7

Lovino waited for twenty minutes, luxuriating in the soft sheets and the pleasant afterglow, secretly looking forward to Antonio’s return and the promise of breakfast in bed to be followed by more sex. After thirty minutes, he started to get annoyed, kicking off the sheets and wondering what the fuck kind of chef of Antonio’s caliber couldn’t make a goddamned omelet in less than thirty minutes. Deciding to ignore Antonio’s instructions, ( _and, really, when had he ever obeyed those before. Just because they fucked didn’t mean he had to listen to that idiot!)_ , Lovino stomped into the shower, figuring that depriving the other man of the opportunity to bathe with him was justifiable retribution for taking so long with his breakfast.

Ten minutes later, he was tramping down the stairs, still wet from the shower, dressed only in a pair of Antonio’s discarded pants, grinding his teeth in irritation, while also worrying that the moron had managed to do himself some grievous harm in the process of making his breakfast.

If only that had been the case, Lovino thought fleetingly, as he threw open the kitchen door to find Antonio leaning over the table, smiling and talking animatedly to a very handsomely dressed man with long blond hair and amused blue eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” Lovino barked as he barged in, startling Antonio enough that he jumped from his seat, while the intruder only seemed to grow more amused. Antonio quickly tried to scuttle over to his side, but Lovino backed away, leaning up against the counter, and crossing his arms over his bare chest, wishing he wasn’t about to have this conversation half-dressed.

Antonio held out his hands in placating gesture, still smiling as he quickly tried to explain, “Lovino! This is my very good friend, Francis Bonnefoy.” He waved towards the still seated man, who only quirked an eyebrow in response to Lovino’s deadly glare.

“I know who the fuck he is, moron.” Lovino growled.

“You do?” Antonio exclaimed in surprise.

“Of course I do. He’s the most renowned food and wine critic in Europe. So yeah, I know who he is. What I don’t know is why the fuck he’s in your kitchen this early in the goddamned morning!” Lovino ranted as Antonio gaped at him, clearly at a loss.

Across the room, Francis stood, rising smoothly out of his chair, crossing the room to stand at Antonio’s side, voice calm and lilting as he spoke, “I’m just passing through on my way from Madrid to Bordeaux and I thought I would drop in on my dear Antonio and see how he was progressing in his latest endeavor.” He paused, raking his eyes up Lovino’s body, smirking lasciviously, “And you must be Lovino. It’s wonderful to finally meet you…in the flesh.”

Lovino scowled and tightened his arms across his chest in a feeble attempt to hide from the Frenchman’s unabashed staring.

“Don’t look at him like that,” Antonio said sharply, only to cause Francis to laugh and sling an arm around his shoulders.

“Come now, my friend, after all the years of my advice and help, you can’t begrudge me a little peek at your prize, which you’ve finally seem to have won!” Francis said throwing a wink at Lovino, whose mind was still trying to process exactly what he was hearing.

He looked directly at Francis, unwilling to give Antonio the opportunity to squirm out of this situation, demanding an explanation, “Help? Advice?”

Francis smiled at him, all charm and light, “Oh, yes, I’ve been trying to help this misguided man win your heart ever since you left him stranded at the airport all those years ago, dashing all his youthful romantic dreams of goodbye confession. Though it certainly didn’t deter his loyal heart for long! Since then he’s always talking about Lovino, Lovino, Lovino.”

Embarrassed, Lovino looked at the floor, unsure of what to make of this revelation that Antonio had apparently been harboring feelings for him years.

Francis was still talking, warming to his subject considerably, “And, poor man, he can’t ever get you to say yes to any of his offers. It was so troubling to see him struggle so desperately for your attention that my romantic heart demanded that I show him the way. I told him, one day as we were discussing what he should do with the Bodega, here is the perfect opportunity! Bring your little Italian here, tell him you need a new wine maker, and voila, you’ll have all the time in the world to make him yours! Seduction under the Spanish sun! Ahhh, who could resist such a perfect plan! And from what I can see, it has worked like magic! I congratulate you both!”

Staring at the floor, eyes wide in disbelief, stomach curdling, Lovino’s fragile heart cracked, the Frenchman’s damning words echoing in his mind, trampling over his hopes. _Antonio didn’t give me this job because he needed me. Or because he thought I was talented. All of this was a fucking game._

 _He lied, he lied, he lied and I fucking fell for it._

Antonio must have noticed Lovino’s distress as he said in a panicked rushed voice, “Please stop helping me, Francis.”

Still looking down, Lovino spoke roughly, “Get the fuck out.” He heard, rather than saw, Antonio usher out Francis, as he tried to blink back his sadness, failing as drops of water splashed onto the floor. Then there were another pair of feet in his field of vision and a hand on his shoulder, Antonio trying to get him to raise his face, murmuring, “What’s wrong, sweetheart,” as he lifted a hand to wipe the wetness under Lovino’s eyes.

Antonio’s look of worry and anxiety was enough to send the anger rushing through Lovino’s veins, a welcome replacement for the paralysis of heartache. _He didn’t have the right to look like that, like he fucking cared_.

He slapped Antonio’s hand away, yelling, “Don’t fucking touch me, you son of bitch!”                

He pushed through the door, running up the stairs with Antonio in hot pursuit, anger and rage flowing freely now, “You’re a fucking liar! Letting me believe that you begged me to work for you because you thought I was talented, that I had what you needed to make this place fucking great again! But no, you fucking lied, you never thought that.  It was just a goddamned convenient excuse to trick me into this little charade!” He turned, spearing Antonio with a pained look  of betrayal, gesturing furiously between the two of them.

Antonio sucked in a breath and tried to reach for him, “Of course I think you’re talented, Lovino. I think you’re amazing.”

Lovino laughed bitterly, “And did you decide that before or after you fucked me?”

Antonio looked like he had been struck, shaking his head desperately, “That’s not fair! I’ve always thought you were special. All of you!”

 Lovino swallowed his hurt, trying to stoke his anger further, storming into his bedroom, going into his closet. Antonio followed closely, clearing wanting to touch him, to comfort and reassure.

Lovino pushed him away, overnight bag in hand, tossing it on to the bed, “How the fuck am I supposed to know what’s true? I thought you needed me, that you took me seriously, I believed you when you said you trusted me to do something great. God, I am such a fucking idiot. No wonder you said it didn’t matter if this year’s vintage failed.”

The tears threatened to return as Lovino hurriedly threw clothes into the bag, pulling a shirt on over his head, wanting to be away from this room, from this place, from this man as quickly as possible.

Antonio grabbed him from behind, holding him desperately, “I do need you. We need you!”

“Not any more you don’t. I’m leaving,” Lovino said, anger deflating, leaving only empty, hurt, confusion.

“I’m in love with you,” Antonio said brokenly.

Lovino’s eyes closed and his heart tripped, the yearning almost threatening to overcome his angry disappointment.

Antonio whispered, “Stay. Stay and let me explain.”

Lovino shook his head, stepping out of Antonio’s embrace too wounded in places that had never healed from past blows to face this now, zipping up his bag, the sound echoing in room like a harbinger of finality.

“I’m going back to Italy.” He moved automatically to put on his shoes, trying to ignore the bereft and lost look on Antonio’s face, knowing it must be mirrored on his own.

“Let me come with you.”

Lovino looked up, meeting Antonio’s sad eyes, taken aback by how badly he wanted to say yes, wanted to give in, before another wave of betrayal overtook him.

“No. I’m going alone so I don’t have to look at you. Or your goddamned vineyards. So I can fucking think.”

He picked up his bag, avoiding any contact with Antonio, who continued to stand as if frozen, staring at the rumpled bed as if wishing he could turn back the clock to the happiness of only an hour before.

Lovino made his way to the door, stopping only when Antonio asked, quiet and plaintive, “Will you come back?”

He stilled, the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, “I don’t know.”

Lovino stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him, not trusting himself to walk away if Antonio kept looking at him with those eyes, trying to will away the memory of the word love with every heavy step he took. 

He stepped out of the Bodega Carriedo into the pouring rain and turned towards home.


	11. Chapter 8

It was late when Lovino made his less than triumphant return to Montalcino, stepping out of Feliciano’s car no less exhausted and confused than when had boarded a plane in Bilbao, sending a single terse message to his brother, requesting that he come alone to pick him up. He’d related the whole sordid and sad tale to Feliciano as they wound their way through the hills and valleys of Tuscany and even the beauty of a Florentine sunset did little to alleviate Lovino’s anxious heartache. Lovino had cast countless glances at his brother’s face, watching for any sign that he had made the right or wrong choice, looking even to his little brother for guidance through his romantic entanglement.

But for once, Feliciano had just listened, thoughtfully, and then sympathetically, offering neither censure nor advice. Standing in front of one of the numerous guest bedrooms, after having snuck into the Tenuta, studiously avoiding Rome’s uncannily perceptive gaze for at least a few more hours, Feliciano gave Lovino what he could; a hug that felt of the comfort of home and unrelenting acceptance that Lovino so desperately craved.  

He collapsed into bed with Feliciano’s promises of distracting their grandfather for as long as possible the next day, rubbing his eyes wearily and trying to keep his thoughts from drifting back to Spain. He flicked on his phone, rubbing salt in his open wound by reading the handful of pleading, apologetic messages from Antonio, each one growing more despondent and mournful than the last.

 _What a fucking mess_ , he sighed, tossing the offending object on to the bedside table and willed his body to sleep, wanting a respite from the self-doubt and recrimination, an escape from the disappointment and denial.

 

The next morning came too quickly for Lovino, who had turned over and over in his bed, finding sleep and rest elusive. Mood further darkened from lack of sleep, he attempted to hide in his room as long as possible, until the house phone began to ring incessantly around noon, a clear sign that Rome was now aware of his presence in the Tenuta and was summoning him as king summons his vassals to an audience.

He spent long minutes in the bathroom, trying to school his face into defiant nonchalance, attempting to bury the hurt where Rome couldn’t find it, knowing it was likely a futile endeavor. A knock at the door brought an abrupt end to his efforts and Lovino sighed like a man doomed to face his own execution as he flung open the door to find a sheepish looking Feliciano.

Feliciano scuffed his foot on the carpet, smiling apologetically, “I’m sorry, Brother, I tried as hard as I could but Grandpa Rome asked me a lot of tricky questions and he found out that you were here. I’m supposed to bring you down to lunch.”

Lovino rolled his eyes and pushed past his brother, “Whatever, don’t fucking worry about it. I’ve gotta deal with the bastard sooner or later.”

He wished that he felt as confident as he sounded as they made their way into the dining room, finding Rome ensconced at the head of the table, looking as regal as ever, surrounded by food and drinking the Estate’s pinot grigio. Lovino shuffled over to his seat, refusing to make eye contact.

“So, the prodigal son returns,” Rome scoffed as Lovino poured himself a glass of the wine, hoping it would calm his nerves.

Rome looked at him critically and then looked at his Blackberry, lifting it up and pointing to the calendar displayed on the screen, “And two days early.”

Lovino snorted, ignoring his growing sense of uneasiness, wary of falling into Rome’s trap, “So?”

Rome frowned at him, shushing Feliciano’s attempts to interject, “So, this leads to me ask you, how’s Spain?”

Lovino swallowed and fiddled with his glass, lying through his teeth, “Its fucking fine!”

Rome had an unpleasant, knowing look as he leaned across the table, feigning conspiratorial commiseration, “If that’s true, then why the fuck has the Carriedo boy been calling here looking for you and sounding like some asshole killed his dog and then screwed his sister?”

All of the blood drained from Lovino’s face and his hand gripped the stem of the wine glass so hard he thought it might break, “That’s none of your fucking business!”

He shoved his chair back from the table, throwing down his napkin in disgust, refusing to give Rome the satisfaction of berating him any longer.

But Rome wasn’t done, slamming his hand down, causing the Feliciano to yelp and the china to shake ominously, “Running away again, Lovino? That’s all you do when you don’t get what you want. When you don’t hear what you fucking want. It’s about goddamned time you stopped looking to others to tell you what you should already know!”

Furious and ashamed, Lovino hurled his glass at the wall, taking vicious satisfaction in Rome’s surprise as the glass shattered, his precious Vargas wine dripping down the plaster. He stormed out of the room, missing the glint of pride that shone in Rome’e eyes as he observed the carnage and calmly returned to eating.

Lovino tore through the vineyards of the Tenuta for hours until his fury had chilled enough to allow him to be within 300 yards of Rome. As he walked up and down the rows, absently admiring the healthy fruit growth, trailing envious fingers the grapes, he imagined the amazing things he could do one day, given enough time and experience, with such rich and storied property. If only this were to be his.

He turned Rome’s words over and over in his mind, feeling as though he was missing something crucial. Yes, Rome had been a cruel bastard, that much was obvious, but there was something in what he said that was burning a hole in his mind. _An ache to match the one in his heart._

When he could pace and stomp no longer, Lovino trudged back to his room, opening the door to find a vase of wild flowers, lovely in their brilliance, and a note.

 _Lovino,_

 _The sun came out today. We need you, so very much._

 _Antonio_

He was still staring at the note, sitting in his room, trying desperately to find the answers he needed within himself, when Feliciano knocked softly and walked in, carrying two glasses and a bottle of grappa.

“Ciao, Lovino. Can I join you?”

Lovino gestured for his brother to sit down, holding out his hand for a glass of the strong liquor, enjoying the way it ran a flaming trail down his throat, lighting his stomach on fire, distracting him from the chaos of his thoughts. He watched as Feliciano’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the flowers, though he said nothing.

Instead, to Lovino’s surprise, Feliciano turned to him and asked, “Brother, do you like my paintings?”

Confused, he answered, “Of course I do. You know that.”

Feliciano smiled at him sweetly, “I know. That makes me so happy! And you love me, right?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Lovino spluttered, wondering what the hell was wrong with his brother.

“An important one!” Feliciano said seriously, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting, knowing that Lovino was incapable of resisting his quivering bottom lip.

“Yes, I love you.” Lovino grumbled, rolling his eyes for good measure.

“And would you love me even if I couldn’t paint? If I was no good?” Feliciano asked, eying the flowers and the note clutched in Lovino’s hand.

Exasperated, Lovino replied, “Of course I fucking would. You’re my brother!”

Feliciano turned to him smile and eyes soft, “And I’m so thankful to have that from you! That kind of love is so special it’s hard to find. To have it from you, and from other wonderful people, it’s what lets me paint and make art that will make others happy!”

Lovino flushed and looked away, tendrils of affection for his brother wrapping around his bruised heart.

Feliciano continued, “And I love you the same. I know you are talented and amazing, and I am very proud of everything you do. Grandpa Rome believes in you, too, even if he doesn’t ever say it. Even if you feel like he’s doesn’t. I think some days he’s just waiting for you to realize how amazing you are. To believe it for yourself.”

Lovino scoffed and tried to look away, face flooding with color, only to have Feliciano settle on his knees in front of him, demanding his full attention, “But listen to me, Lovino, because this is important. If you failed, if you struggled, I would love you just the same. If you decided you wanted to never make another bottle of wine, it wouldn’t matter to me. Because I love you just as you are. Not because of what you can do.”

 _Oh. Oh God_ , Lovino thought desperately, trying to fight back the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he’d listened to Feliciano’s words, thinking that perhaps he’d wildly misunderstood many of the things Antonio had been trying to tell him.

Feliciano squeezed one of his knees, “I just wanted you to know that you have at least one person in this world who feels that way about you, and always will. You can try anything, be anyone, and I’ll be cheering for you!”

Lovino grabbed Feliciano into a rough hug, clenching the fabric of his shirt and trying not to cry, mumbling, “Thank you, Feliciano.”

Feliciano laughed and thumped him on the back, “Of course! You are my precious big brother!”

Lovino laughed a little as well, wiping his hand across his eyes, settling back in his chair and commanding another glass of grappa in an attempt to lighten the moment. He looked down to find that he had crumpled Antonio’s note when he’d hugged Feliciano. When Feliciano returned with his drink, he held it out wordlessly for his brother to take.

Feliciano arched an eyebrow and handed it back, “What do you want to do?”

Lovino sighed and closed his eyes, “I don’t fucking know. It pisses me off to even have to think about this shit, because damn it all, I could have made a really good fucking wine at the Bodega and now it’s all fucked up and there’s our bastard grandfather and that bastard Antonio, and it’s all just fucked.”

Feliciano hummed thoughtfully for a moment, “How good?”

Lovino groaned, “If the rain didn’t cock it all up, really fucking good. Even better than the Solare Nero d’Avolo. If the Tempranillo stayed true, I think I could have made the wine that would have put me on the fucking map. Goddamn it, I wanted to make that wine.”

“Um, please don’t throw your glass at me for saying this,” Feliciano said hesitantly, voice going slightly tremulous, “but I think you should go back.”

Lovino sat up, eyes flying open, “You do? You think I should go back to him?”

“I can’t tell you what to do about to do about Antonio, you have to decide that for yourself,” Feliciano said quickly, wary of his brother’s unpredictable temper.

“Then what the fuck do you mean?” Lovino exclaimed, looking at Feliciano like he was a creature he’d never seen before.

Feliciano smiled, despite Lovino’s scary face, clapping his hands once, “If you want to go make that wine, if it’s important to you, and if you think you can do it, then I think you should go back and make it! Don’t worry about what anyone else says! You don’t need permission to do what you love! If it is what you want, take it!”

Lovino blinked at Feliciano in surprise, feeling for the first time in forty-eight hours like there was something in this world that he might be able to make sense of, to hold on to, if he only reached out and took control.

Heart racing as his mind was flooded with half-baked ideas and a wild, unspeakable, plan, Lovino stood and crossed the room to where Feliciano was sitting on the bed, humming to himself and swinging his legs happily. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Feliciano’s head, and for the second time that evening, murmured “thank you.”

 

Although he slept as little that night as the night before, Lovino woke the next morning filled with anxious energy, pacing the room as he attempted to summon all the confidence he could for the conversation he was about to have. He put on his best suit, rationalizing that the better one looked, the better one felt. He tucked the note from Antonio in his pocket, a talisman against failure. Before he left his room, he plucked one a small purple flower from the bouquet, sliding it through a buttonhole, hoping it would bring him luck.

Lovino took a deep breath and went to change his fate, marching assuredly from his room to the dining room, scene of yesterday’s humiliation. He shoved open the French doors, striding across the floors, feeling his heart race as he approached Rome, who was eying him with mild interest and curiosity. Feliciano and Ludwig stopped their conversation, mouths hanging open in surprise that Lovino had willing shown himself after yesterday’s debacle.

He swallowed once and ran his fingers over the note in his pocket before slamming his hands down on the table, the sound echoing through the silence of the room. He bent over and looked directly at Rome, declaring, “I have something to say to you.”

Rome looked intrigued, setting down his knife and fork, “Well, then, let’s hear it. What does my eldest grandson have to say to me?”

Lovino took a deep breath, “I’m done taking your shit. I’m fucking good at what I do, even if you don’t think so. But you know what, that doesn’t matter anymore, because I’ve got something to bargain with.”

“Oh?” Rome said, seemingly enjoying the conversation.

Lovino smirked at him, “If you don’t give me what I want, and we’ll get to what that is in a minute, you fucker, I’ll run the Villa Solare into the ground. I’ve looked at the numbers, I know how much MY winery is worth to this fucking company and even if you refuse to acknowledge how valuable it is, I know it, and I know what damage I can do to you, you stupid, ignorant bastard. I’ll churn out the shittiest wine you’ve ever tasted and I’ll make sure your fucking precious name is all over that bottle, because as you say, it’s all about brand recognition. Everyone will blame you and I’ll run off scot free.”

He paused, pointing an accusatory finger at Rome, and the barreled ahead, “I know what I’m capable of and I’ll destroy that winery and then take everything I know about you and about wine and I’ll go to the competition and I’ll fucking bury you. I’ll destroy you and the Vargas name if you don’t give me what I want.” 

Chest heaving and pulse pounding, Lovino finished his speech, looking at Feliciano and Ludwig’s astonished faces before once again meeting Rome’s eyes.

It was one of the most unexpected developments of Lovino’s young life when, to his great and never ending surprise, Rome smiled at him, bright and genuine, as he clapped his hands loudly.

Rome stood, voice booming and proud, “It’s about fucking time. I’ve only been waiting twenty-six years for you to say this to me. For you to be ready to truly be my heir.”

“What in the holy fuck are you talking about?” Lovino breathed out; mind unable to comprehend what was happening.

“An emperor doesn’t wait for his empire to come to him. He demands it, and if he can’t have it, he fights for it, takes it by force, conquering his enemies and ruling with an iron fist because he knows that there is no better ruler, that no one else can do what he can.” Rome said definitively.

Lovino shook his head, “What?”

Rome walked over to him, clasping his shoulder, “You’ve always had the raw talent. I knew from the moment when you were six years old and breathing deep in my wine cellar, looking like you’d found heaven, that you were the one to inherit my empire.”

Lovino’s eyes widened and his thoughts blanked out, the entirety of his past no longer making any sense.

Rome laughed bitterly, “I can see it written all over your face. You want to know why I pushed you so hard, never told you any of this. You’ve always been gifted, but you’ve also been lazy and undisciplined, always waiting for someone else to give you the fucking go ahead to be great. I couldn’t entrust my kingdom, everything our family has worked for, to someone who couldn’t believe in his own goddamned self. I had to push you, so you could become strong.”

Lovino couldn’t quite trust what he was hearing, shoving Rome away, “You’re a bastard of the first degree.”

Rome nodded unapologetically, “I may be. But I know now that my empire will be in good hands. As of today, I’m giving total control of the Southern region to you, and when I retire, or God forbid, die, all of the Vargas Estates will belong to you.”

Lovino had to sit down, shocked and thrilled and infuriated, feeling as though once again his entire life had been turned upside down. Feliciano ran over and hugged him tightly, shouting ecstatic congratulations.

Lovino absently patted Feliciano’s arm as reality slowly began to sink in.

Rome went back to his seat, calmly picking up his coffee, “Oh, by the way, what did you want?”

“What?” Lovino asked distractedly, before remembering that before he’d had half a wine empire entrusted to him, there was something he’d planned to demand from Rome. Now he didn’t have to ask. It was all within his power.

He shot a steely look at Rome, “Doesn’t matter now. But listen to me, Rome, I’m still going to fucking bury you, you asshole. One day all of this will be mine and I’ll make such an empire that you’ll weep from jealousy or cry in hell with envy.”

Rome smiled at him again, “I’m very glad to hear it.”

Lovino stood, legs still shaking, mind racing ahead to the next thing he needed to do. For this, he would need help, even if the thought of asking for it was extremely distasteful.

He turned to Ludwig, who still seemed to be struggling to understand what had just happened over an Italian breakfast, snapping his fingers and shouting, “Potato-bastard. You work for me now.”

He cackled inwardly at the sight of Ludwig’s pale, queasy reaction to that statement, before commanding, “And I need you to do something for me. Something important.”

Lovino smiled. It was time to make his mark.


	12. Chapter 9

Two days later, the new Regional Director for the Vargas Estates was waiting anxiously at the Palermo Airport in Sicily, dressed to the nines and staring at the Arrivals Board, unsure of whether or not he wanted the flight from Bilbao to show “on-time” or “delayed,” both anticipating and dreading the disembarking of his visitor. Lovino scowled and smoothed his tie for the hundredth time, glaring at passengers who dared to make grumbling complaints as they parted around him as he stood parked in front of the large digital display, uninterested in anyone else’s drama but his own. His pulse started to race when the sign showed that Flight 247 from Bilbao had landed. Time was up.

It was time to put his plan into action.

 _  
Two days earlier ~ Montalcino, Italy_

 _The phone was taunting him. Fresh from his revelatory confrontation with Rome, Lovino was now faced with the overwhelming and delicious prospect of having half of the Vargas resources at his fingers. He had walked into that room intending to demand as much capital as he could wring from Rome’s stubborn hands and left with the kind of clout and responsibility of which he had only dared to dream. This idea, his wild-eyed scheme, now carried more significance than ever before._

 _He had to be sure this was what he wanted. Professionally, rationally, there was no doubt in his mind that this step would be the right one to take, but his heart was still shy, his affection fragile._

 _He just needed more time. A little more time._

 _Frustrated with his own inaction, Lovino cursed himself a coward and grabbed his cell phone, breathing deeply and pressing that taunting little green button. As the phone rang, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves._

 _Antonio picked up on the second ring, voice disbelieving and colored with yearning, “Lovino? Is that you?”_

 _For a moment, Lovino was silent, letting Antonio’s voice wash over him, trying to keep his own response steady and dispassionate, “Yes, it’s me.”_

 _Antonio’s breath rushed out on in one giant relieved sigh before he began rambling in rapid fire Spanish, “I’m so sorry, Lovino. Please believe me.”_

 _Lovino cut him off sharply. “I didn’t call to hear that. Listen, have you checked the grapes?”_

 _Antonio’s reply was subdued and quiet, “I did. So far the two days of rain seems to have done no damage.”_

 _“Thank God!” Lovino exclaimed, though he knew that only time would really tell if shatter had set in, but still reassured, “Now there’s a chance I may have something to fucking work with come September!”_

 _The other end of the line crackled with a quick, surprised sound, Antonio asking with cautious optimism, “You’re coming back?”_

 _Lovino rubbed his forehead, trying to regain the confidence he’d possessed when staring down Rome, “Right now I need to be in Italy.”_

 _Before he could continue, he felt his heart constrict at the sound of Antonio’s broken little, “Oh.”_

 _He rushed to respond, suddenly terrified of the thought of being the cause of that defeated voice, tripping over his words, nervous and unsure, “I need to go to Sicily, but, um…well…ah…”_

 _Annoyed, he pinched the inside of his arm and reminded himself that he was fucking Lovino Vargas, heir to one of Europe’s greatest wine empires and that from this day forth he backed down from nothing, not even this._

 _He started again, forcing confidence into his tone, “Fuck it! There’s something I need to talk to you about. Can you come to Trapani?”_

 _“Really?” Antonio sounded incredulous._

 _“No, I was just fucking around. Yes, you moron, fucking really!” Lovino grumbled sarcastically, relieved to be able to fall back on his old ways._

 _Now, Antonio responded with tentative happiness, affirming repeatedly, much to Lovino’s reluctantly amused exasperation, that “yes, he would gladly come to Trapani, would two days from now be okay, that he couldn’t wait to see Lovino, and would two days be ok?”_

  
And now those two days were up and Lovino had about thirty seconds to decide exactly what he was going to do; and then those thirty seconds were gone and there was Antonio, pushing through the arrivals door causing the anxious fluttering of Lovino’s heart and stomach to triple as he watched Antonio look for him.

 _“Well,”_ he thought, giving up any remaining pretense, “ _that settles the question of what I’m going to do.  No other fucking choice but to go for it”._

He stepped from behind the display, taking in the way Antonio’s gaze locked on him, with tired but cautiously hopeful eyes, as handsome as ever. He approached Lovino eagerly, starting to hold out his arms as if intending an embrace, before seeming to think better of it, much to Lovino’s disappointment, settling for a quiet and warmly spoken, “Ciao, Lovino.”

Lovino peered up at him, revealing nothing of his inner turmoil, simply gesturing for him to follow, murmuring, “Ciao, Antonio,” as he turned and led them out into the scorching midday Sicilian sun.

The car ride back to the Villa Solare was quiet, though Lovino could see that Antonio was agitatedly trying to curb the impulse to speak, to ask questions, and if the constant twitching of his hands was anything to go by, to touch.

Or perhaps he was just projecting his own repressed desires as he dared to glance over at Antonio’s face; the lines of his jaw, the curl of his hair, the pursing of his lips all a temptation that set his blood running hot.

His desire only grew in intensity, latent and liquid, as he observed Antonio’s open and obvious appreciation of the Villa Solare, taking great pleasure in another’s enjoyment of this place that for him was so beloved.

Lovino shook his head, breaking the enchantment, knowing there was business to done, things to be said, as he ushered Antonio into his private residence, forgoing the formal tour of the estate,  telling a disappointed Antonio, “he could fucking gawk on his own time.”

He tried to ignore Antonio’s badly disguised interest in his home, how avidly he seemed to look at everything, as if the walls and furniture would reveal Lovino’s hidden heart. _It was ridiculously endearing_.

He distracted himself by opening a bottle of his very own Villa Solare Bianco D’Alcomo, a crisp white blend, native to only this region of Sicily, perfect for a hot afternoon.

Keeping his back to Antonio as he pulled the foil from the bottle, he finally broke their heavy silence, speaking roughly, “You fucked up when you lied to me about why you wanted me to work at the Bodega.”

Lovino heard Antonio sigh deeply and settle into one of the two chairs at the small table, “I did and I am sorry, Lovino. You wanted to make great wine and I wanted you to love me. I shouldn’t have confused the two.”

 _Jesus Christ, how does he say such things as if they cost him nothing?_

Flushing as his hands shook trying to pull out the cork, Lovino managed only to nod in response, before Antonio continued, voice so honest in its entreaty to be believed, “But I never lied about how talented I think you are. How much I trust you with the Bodega. How much I need you.”

Lovino took a deep, steadying breath and turned, wine in hand, pouring them each a glass before sitting down as well, taking a sip for looking at Antonio, “That’s good to know.” He paused, glancing away before mumbling, “And I fucking appreciate it.”

He faced Antonio again, summoning his newly christened emperor’s voice, “But that’s not what I want to talk about. Rome’s officially made me his heir. As of now, all of the Southern region is mine alone and when the old bastard finally fucks off or kicks it, everything Vargas will be under my control.”

“Lovino! That’s amazing! I am so happy for you!” Antonio joyously exclaimed, gracing Lovino with the first sight of his signature smile in more than four days.

He waved Antonio off, needing to keep going before he lost his nerve, “I intend to do big things, fucking great things. And for that I need an edge, something to set Lovino Vargas apart from his fucking shithead of a grandfather. I’ve got a good start with the reputation of the Villa, but there’s something new I want to try.  Much as it pains me to admit it, I've talked it over with the potato-bastard and he agrees this would be great for my company.”

He paused, gathering his wits about him before meeting Antonio’s interested and supportive gaze, “I want to make a major investment in the Bodega Carriedo, make it my other signature winery.”

Antonio interrupted, voice clearly perplexed, “But, Lovino, I don’t need any investors!”

Annoyed at having the roll out of his grand plan disrupted, Lovino shot him a dirty look, “I wasn’t fucking finished! Jesus.”

He took another sip of wine and forged ahead, “You don’t need any investors as you are now, but, well, I was thinking, if you took me on as a silent partner, I could infuse enough capital in the place to totally reinvent it. Revitalize what it means to experience wine in the Rioja.”

And now that he had reached the critical point, Lovino’s courage faltered and he cast his eyes away, speaking to the floor as he unveiled his wild idea, “I think we should open a restaurant at the Bodega. Combine the Rioja’s best wine and best food under one roof.  You could be the chef and I’ll be the wine maker. We’ll be unstoppable.”

 _There. He’d said it. It was done._

His heart pounded as he waited for Antonio to say something, anything to break the deafening, crushing silence as he continued to stare at the tile floor, unwilling to see the expression on Antonio’s face.

“You would do that for me?” Antonio finally said, voice cracking with disbelief and barely restrained joy.

Suddenly flooded with the sensation that everything was going be alright, a lightness of being, Lovino scoffed, still looking away in an attempt to hide his telltale blush, “It’s good for business.”

He heard Antonio push back his chair and then saw his feet, standing directly in front of him. Antonio placed a gentle hand on his chin, tilting it up so that their eyes met.

“Are you saying you want to be partners?”

Lovino took a moment to memorize the way Antonio looked right now, standing in front of him, practically vibrating with excitement and happiness, before he replied, plain and simple, “Yeah, that’s what I’m fucking saying. So are you in or are you out?”

The grip on his chin tightened briefly before Antonio exhaled, voice low and dangerous, “Where do I sign?”

“Paperwork means Germans, so how about we just shake on it for now?” Lovino asked, his own voice going husky as he stood from his chair, holding out his hand.

Antonio smiled at him, that precious, treasured, private bedroom grin as he placed his hand in Lovino’s, shaking once before pulling him in tight, pressing their bodies together from toe to chest, and kissing him long and deep, fingers threading possessively in his hair.

Breathless, Lovino broke the kiss, murmuring against Antonio’s mouth, “I didn’t say anything about this kind of shit.”

Antonio laughed a little, rolling his hips in a tantalizing little shimmy that had Lovino biting his lip, as he whispered, “I read between the lines.”

And then he was kissing Lovino again, heady and rich, as they shuffled across the kitchen floor in a slow moving tango towards the bedroom, laughing intermittently as they shed clothes on their way, shucking off shoes and ties and shirts in a trail of debauchery.

As they fumbled their way into the bedroom, Antonio struggling to wriggle his hand down Lovino’s pants while also kissing him senseless, Lovino took matters into his own hands, sending Antonio sprawling onto the bed with a forceful shove.

Antonio’e eyes widened with heated interest as he propped up on his elbows, watching as Lovino stripped off the rest of his clothes, quickly obeying when Lovino barked out, “Take that shit off, already!”

Lovino licked his lips as all of Antonio’s skin came into view, stroking his cock as he stalked over, leaning over the bed to kiss him, biting at his lips as he urged Antonio to lie flat. He climbed onto the bed, pressing his naked skin against Antonio’s, reveling in the instant surge of heat that passed between them, swallowing Antonio’s moan.

Humming, Lovino stuck out his tongue, letting it trail teasingly down Antonio’s wonderfully exposed throat, making him twitch and arch before continuing to move downwards, running his fingers up the firm curves of Antonio’s chest, tweaking and pinching his nipples.

With one hand, Lovino reached towards the foot of the bed, grasping for the not so hidden bottle of lube he’d long kept stashed there for occasions such as this. He’d wanted to suck Antonio off, to lavish him with attention, but the thrumming in his veins was too loud, the need too great.

He watched, captivated, as Antonio’s eyes flew open, his breathing going shallow and raspy as he reached out a hand to stroke his cock, grip firm and assured. He watched the arousal flare in Antonio’s eyes as he realized what Lovino was doing with his other hand, two fingers buried between his legs.

Antonio tried to reach for him, panting, “Stop that. I want to do that,” only to arch and moan wantonly when Lovino quickly ran his tongue along the head of his cock, sucking him into his mouth.

Lovino pulled his hands away, climbing into Antonio’s lap, breathless and desperate, lacing his fingers through Antonio’s for support, eyes clenching shut as he eased himself down onto Antonio inch by inch, thighs quivering with the effort.

“Dios mio,” Antonio sighed when Lovino was fully seated in his lap, breathing heavily, lips parted as he savored the feeling.

Still grasping Antonio’s hands, Lovino started to move, rocking back and forth slowly until the burn and stretch subsided into pleasure, his head tilting back as he began to move in earnest.

“Let me touch you,” Antonio pleaded, hips thrusting, and Lovino acquiesced, releasing their handhold, gratified and turned-on by the desperate seeking rush of Antonio’s fingers over his body, the way he clutched and stroked at him with such greed and possession.

When Antonio’s hand finally made its way to his cock, stroking in time with the rise and fall of their movements, Lovino opened his eyes, taking Antonio’s other hand and sucking the tips of his fingers into his mouth. He reveled in Antonio’s groan and the way Antonio seemed to press into him even deeper. 

He looked at Antonio, flushed and sweating, lips parted and panting, skin glistening in the full afternoon sun that poured through the windows of his bedroom, setting them both aglow.

Holding Antonio’s hand over his heart, pushing his hips down as hard and fast as he could, urging them both on, Lovino commanded, “Open your eyes.”

Instantly, Antonio obeyed, hazy green eyes, hooded with lust and love, suddenly staring into his own.

Lovino moaned, “God, look at you. You were meant to be fucked in the daylight.”

He reached out his other hand, running his fingers gently along Antonio’s bottom lip, sighing,“O sole mio.”

Antonio gasped, eyes widening in unexpected pleasure at the endearment as he bucked up wildly, the grip on Lovino’s cock tightening.

Surprised, Lovino shouted and stiffened, coming over Antonio’s hand and chest, feeling Antonio’s orgasm follow as he climaxed around him. 

Still shaking, thighs screaming in protest, Lovino leaned down, brushing the hair off of Antonio’s face, kissing him softly and even with a hint of sweetness.

Antonio cupped his jaw in his broad and warm hands, deepening their embrace, drawing out the moment of pleasure. Without breaking the kiss, Antonio pushed up, nudging Lovino’s lax and satiated body on its back.

Lovino opened his sleepy eyes to find Antonio gazing at him with intense happiness as he murmured, “I love you. So much.”

Lovino blushed and let his eyes flutter closed, pulling Antonio’s head down to rest over his heart.

 

Later, as the sun was beginning to set, Lovino awoke, restless and energized, while Antonio continued to sleep, lazy and irritatingly gorgeous. He wriggled out from Antonio’s clinging embrace, shrugging on his pants and wandering into the kitchen, figuring that sex that good deserved to be celebrated with a wine as decadent.

Smiling to himself, he selected a bottle of the 2006 Villa Solarea Nero d’Avolo, trailing out onto the balcony of his bedroom with glass in hand, surveying his domain with contented pleasure. Long moments passed, filled with dreams for the future, grandiose plans and scandalous daydreams, until Lovino’s reverie was disturbed by Antonio settling next to him, leaning over the balcony ledge, draped only in a sheet as he yawned sleepily.

Lovino rolled his eyes and bumped their hips together, “You’re a fucking shameless bastard.”

Antonio moved in closer, laughing as he spoke, “Back to bastard, then? I think I prefer Lovino’s bedroom names!”

Pretending to scowl in order to cover the embarrassed twitch of his lips, Lovino mumbled, “I deny any such fucking thing ever happening.”

Antonio pressed a kiss to his temple as Lovino held out the glass, admiring the way the wine sparkled garnet and ruby in the fading sunlight, casting a red tinted shadow over the rolling vineyards of the Villa Solare.

Antonio hummed and looked out across the same vista, turning to Lovino with a warm smile, “So this is your first love, no?”

Lovino flushed and swallowed, reaching out a hand to intertwine his fingers with Antonio’s, meeting Antonio’s gaze with open and honest eyes, taking a step closer and confessing, “Second.”

~End

 _My heart is drenched in wine, but you’ll be on my mind forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bianco D’Alcamo http://www.thinksicily.com/guide-to-sicily/food-and-wine-in-sicily/sicilian-wine.aspx
> 
> O Sole Mio—My sun (from the Neopolitan song, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%27O_Sole_Mio).
> 
> End lyric borrowed from Norah Jones’ song Don’t Know Why.


End file.
